


Maybe If I Do

by libbywednesday



Category: South Park
Genre: (oh my god they were roommates), Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Borderline Personality Disorder, Break Up, College, Discussion of Abortion, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Frottage, GNC Butters, Gay Sex, Gratuitous Smut, Kyman Endgame, Love Confessions, Love Polygon, Love Triangles, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Miscarriage, Roommates, Stendy Endgame, Suicide Attempt, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vaginal Sex, Very Brief Butters X Cartman Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 58,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25210477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libbywednesday/pseuds/libbywednesday
Summary: Wendy and Stan have broken up and Eric's been in love with Kyle for pretty much ever. Things'll work out eventually, though. They always do.
Relationships: Eric Cartman & Wendy Testaburger, Eric Cartman/Wendy Testaburger, Kyle Broflovski/Eric Cartman, Stan Marsh/Wendy Testaburger
Comments: 42
Kudos: 180





	1. Netflix and Chill

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I know I shouldn't start a new fic when I have The Sun Also Rises unfinished but I've been dealing with some personal medical issues and that fic is just hitting home a little too hard right now. So! Take this! I have six or seven chapters already finished so I'm planning on updating weekly for a while! I feel like it might be some of my best work so far. It actually started as an exercise in writing in present tense for once so that's been really fun! There is an incredible amount of sex in this fic so, if that's not your thing, I'm so sorry. But for everyone else, enjoy!! -Libby
> 
> Edit 7/27/20- I might start updating this fic more frequently since I'm writing at least 1000 words a day and I'm anxious for the narrative to pick up and I'm excited to post some of the later chapters I've written already (especially chapter eight!!)

Wendy knows it was her decision to break up with Stan in the first place but it doesn't make her feel any less upset about it. In fact, as she sits alone in her car in the Walmart parking lot, she feels like she really might die from sadness.

It is a cool, clear night and she wishes she had worn a jacket, but, at least she doesn't have to leave the car. Instead, she just waits and listens to the music on the radio. It's an annoying pop ballad that's actually making her feel a little worse. She's flipping through the stations when Eric opens the door and sits down in the passenger seat.

"I got you Oreos and tampons," he says, handing her the plastic grocery bag.

Wendy rolls her eyes. "I don't need tampons. I'm going through a breakup, not on my period."

"Well, whatever," says Eric, buckling his seat belt. "So, where are we goin' now?"

"I was planning on getting wine drunk at my apartment," says Wendy, turning the ignition and turning her head as she backs out of her parking spot. "You can come if you want, or I can drop you off at your dorm." She actually hopes he wants to come back to her house with her. Dropping him off at his dorm means that she'll run the chance of seeing Stan outside since he also lives in the same building and she's not sure if she can handle that.

"Eh, sure," Eric says, taking over her job of searching for a song on the radio. "I don't feel like seeing my gay ass roommate tonight."

Wendy isn't sure why he phrases it like that. Kyle is his roommate and he's been in love with Kyle forever. She opens her mouth to say something about it but Eric cuts her off.

"Listen. I know it's Kyle. But, he's just my roommate."

"Until you actually tell him how you feel," she says, raising her eyebrows at him.

"That's stupid," he retorts. "You really think he'd want to fuck me? _Me?_ Of all people?"

"He likes you," Wendy says. "Stan said-" she stops. She doesn't have any right to think about things Stan said anymore.

"Fuck Stan," says Eric. "You don't need Stan."

"Thanks," she says, quietly, eyes on the road.

Eric doesn't say anything for a while, which is unusual for him. "Maybe you should just be a lesbian," he says, finally.

Wendy snorts a laugh. "I wish."

"You and Bebe would be cute," says Eric.

Bebe is Wendy's roommate but she's out of town for her grandfather's funeral. They're best friends most of the time so Wendy wishes she were here to help her through this breakup. But, Eric is a good substitute, surprisingly. They've started hanging out more in college and she's come to realize that they can actually get along pretty well. He's still the same insufferable Eric but he's mellowed out with age and he's really quite funny. They've gotten really close these days and it only feels a little bit weird sometimes. Eric is gay, or at least Wendy is pretty sure he is. She knows he's been with women before but he only really ever talks about men. Kyle, specifically.

"Anyhow," she says, after snickering at the idea of her and Bebe together, "I think we should talk about you and Kyle."

"Fucking _why?"_ Eric groans. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Something happened and I want to know what!" says Wendy. "Did you kiss him?"

Eric throws his head back and laughs. "No! I haven't touched the Jew! But..."

"But???" Wendy prompts, suggestively. She's never gotten Eric to talk about this before but she knows something happened between the two of them because they haven't even looked at each other in two weeks.

"We jerked off together, is all," Eric says, eventually.

"You _what!?"_ Wendy all but screams. "Like each other?"

"No, like..." Eric exhales noisily. "I was in my bed jerkin' it and he was in his bed jerkin' it and we just like... looked at each other? Or whatever!"

"Eric!" Wendy exclaims. "That's so homoerotic, you dweeb! How are you still unsure if he likes you after that?"

"Because!" says Eric. "I'm me and he's Kyle!"

"You guys deserve each other," she says. "Plus, you're cute now!"

That was true. Eric had gained a lot of muscle from being on the wrestling team in high school and he had grown into his face, dimples and all. Topped off with a stylish haircut, a little facial hair, and a fantastic sense of fashion and he had become quite the catch.

Eric laughs loudly, again. "Yeah, finally. You know I'm just swimming in bitches!"

"Well, I wouldn't say you're not!" says Wendy. "Aside from Kyle there's Heidi... and Butters... and that guy from your sociology class... and-"

"Alright, alright, I get it." He shakes his head. "The Butters thing was an accident," he chuckles.

"Yeah, okay," Wendy says in a jocular tone.

"It was! I was drunk!"

"That excuses nothing!" she says.

Eric rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Anyhow, jerking off together is just a dude thing. Kyle probably does it with Stan too. I know their dads do."

"Randy and Gerald?" Wendy asks, incredulously.

"Ch'yeah. They say it's not gay though. I have to laugh."

"I can believe it, honestly," Wendy says. "Randy's a fucking creep. He hit on me at Christmas dinner last year. And I mean like _at_ Christmas dinner. Like, at the table. In front of Stan. And Sharon. It was mortifying."

"Hoooooly shit," says Eric. "I can't believe he would do something so controversial yet so brave."

"Sharon apologized for him. She's a wonderful woman and I hope she fucking leaves his ass someday," Wendy says pulling into the parking lot of her apartment building, stopping her car in the parking spot she always chooses. "But, no, Eric, I don't think that that's a dude thing. I think that's a really really gay thing."

They get out of the car and go inside, taking the stairs to her third floor apartment. She unlocks the door and turns on the lights. Eric immediately kicks off his shoes and flops down on the couch, throwing off his jacket.

"I hate that your apartment has stairs," he says, a little out of breath.

"Your dorm has stairs," she argues, closing the door behind her and locking it, slipping off her shoes and leaving them neatly in their place.

"Significantly less," says Eric. He sits up and watches as Wendy pours herself a large glass of red wine. "Do you _only_ have wine?" he asks. He's never been a big fan of wine.

"You can have the Coronas that Bebe has in the fridge," she says. "I'll replenish her supply at some point."

"Sweet," says Eric, getting up, opening the fridge, and grabbing a beer. He pops off the bottle cap and sits back down on the couch, taking a long gulp.

Wendy joins him with her extremely full wine glass. She brings it to her lips and sips the surface tension off the top. It's dry and fruity and, most importantly, alcoholic. She leans back into the couch cushions with a sigh. "So... Netflix?"

"Sure," says Eric, handing her the remote.

She puts on a random stand up comedy special. She doesn't really care about watching it but figures it might lighten her mood a little.

Eric notices she's looking upset and elbows her in the shoulder. "Hey, you wanna talk shit about Stan?" he asks.

She shakes her head. "Not really. I feel bad."

"What'd you guys break up for this time?" asks Eric.

Wendy is a little insulted by the way he says _'this time'_ but lets it go. "Well, it's technically just 'a break' but I just feel like we want different things. I want a career and he just wants to talk about marriage and kids. I mean, we're still young! He said it would be okay if I wanted to be a stay at home mom, for crying out loud!"

Eric makes a face. "Yikes." Even he knows that that would be a bad thing to say to Wendy of all people. He shrugs. "But, you know, the thing about Marsh is that he's stupid. Like really dumb."

"He's not," Wendy says, rubbing her forehead with her free hand. "He's really not. He's just... I don't know. Clueless?"

Eric snorts. "So that's what finally ended things then?"

"Apparently so. I guess I also just wanted to make sure I can live without him, you know?" she says. "You spend your entire life with one person and you wonder if you're missing out on anything."

Eric weighs that over in his head. "Yeah, I see what you mean." He takes another swig and finishes his first beer, standing to get another one from the kitchen. "You need another drink?"

Wendy looks down at her nearly empty glass and swirls the remaining wine before downing it. "Yes, please," she says, handing him her glass.

She's starting to feel a little tipsy already. She knows she's a lightweight, being petite and all, but doesn't mention it. Eric is absolutely not a lightweight. Being a bigger guy and also a heavy drinker, it takes at least three beers to get him tipsy. He seems like he's well on his way, though, because he grabs two for himself instead of one, this time. He hands her another glass of wine, not quite as full this time, so she's pretty sure he can tell that she'll regret having more.

"I'm done talking about Stan," says Wendy. "Talk about Kyle so I don't have to talk about Stan anymore."

"Ugh," Eric groans. "I don't wanna. He makes me want to die."

"He does not."

"He does. I can't even look at him," says Eric. "He's just got this _face_ and these _eyes_ and his _hair_ is... ugh!" He tosses his head back and chugs one of his beers. "Fuck, I need to be drunk right now."

"If you're feeling really brave, I think there's a little bit of Everclear left over from Bebe's birthday party on top of the fridge," says Wendy, raising her eyebrows as she takes a sip of wine.

Eric mulls it over and then shrugs. "Everclear tastes like shit but yeah, okay." He gets up and reaches up onto the refrigerator, finding the clear bottle. "You got shot glasses?"

"You're supposed to water that down first, you know," says Wendy.

"I weigh four hundred pounds; I think I'll live," Eric says, flatly, rolling his eyes.

"Suit yourself. Shot glasses are in the cupboard," Wendy replies, trying to focus on the TV. She looks up in time to see Eric slam down two shots of grain alcohol. "Slow down there, heart breaker," she says, cocking an eyebrow. "You're going to make yourself sick."

"No, no, I'm good," Eric says, shutting his eyes tightly as he breathes through the burn. "Oof, that's disgusting."

Wendy laughs and brings her knees up onto the couch, curling up into a ball. "I'm sure you'll be feeling it in half an hour or so."

"Let's hope so," Eric says, sitting down next to her. "It's Friday which means I've been sober for like at _least_ four days and that's too long."

Wendy shrugs. The comedy special is coming to an end now which means they've been drinking for almost an hour and she's really starting to feel it at this point. She finds herself slumping over against Eric's shoulder.

"You good, fam?" he asks.

"Mmhm," Wendy mumbles. "You're just soft."

"True, true," says Eric. They sit together for a while until Wendy speaks again.

"How did we end up like this?"

"Like _this_ specifically-" Eric gestures to their positioning "-or like in general?"

"How are we friends?" Wendy asks. She makes a good point. Everything about them is different. He's rude and goofy and dramatic and she's smart and focused and somewhat austere. They're both ambitious and hot headed and self-righteous, though so it does make some sense.

Eric makes an unsure noise. "Who knows. Bonding over feelings for shitty boys, I guess. Each taking a half of the Super Best Friends. And, you know, maybe you're a little less bitchy than you used to be."

"Hah," says Wendy. "Maybe _you're_ a little less of a dick than you used to be."

"I probably am!" Eric agrees. "That's just what happens when they put you in a mental hospital and then you get therapy and then you go to college."

"I forgot about that," Wendy says.

"Yeah, I'm good now," says Eric. He blinks. "God, I'm fucking drunk," he realizes.

Wendy isn't sure why that's so hilarious but it is and she laughs into his shoulder. Eventually, Eric starts too and they laugh together on the couch for a good long while until Eric notices that Wendy is no longer laughing. She's crying now, sobbing in hiccuping gasps against his shirt, leaving wet tear marks where her eyes are.

"Fuck, you okay?" Eric asks. He's trying to focus his eyes, coming to the conclusion that he probably should have only done one shot of Everclear.

Wendy nods, even though she's blubbering against his chest.

"Alright, its time for bed," Eric decides, rubbing her back for a second and then scooping her up in his big arms. He tries not to stumble on his way to her bedroom but fails and ends up whacking her head against the door frame. "Oh, shit, sorry," he says, unceremoniously dropping her on the bed.

Wendy rubs the back of her head, painfully. "Ow," she mutters but then laughs again, through her tears. "You fucking idiot."

She doesn't tend to swear too much anymore so that catches Eric off guard and he smirks but then loses his balance and topples onto the bed. The bed creaks loudly against his weight. "Oof, Christ," he says, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling.

Wendy finally finishes her laughing and crying and wipes her eyes on the back of her hand. She sniffs loudly. "God, this sucks," she says.

"What does? Being drunk or the fact that I'm in your bed?" Eric asks.

"Ugh, I just miss Stan," she says. "Is that lame?"

"Nah, you're just stupid," Eric says matter-of-factly. "But that's fine because I am too."

"Because you did two shots of Everclear and drank three beers?"

"No, because I'm a big fat loser who's in love with Kyle Broflovski," he admits. "I think we might seriously have the _worst_ taste in men."

"I think you're right," says Wendy. She shifts and the bed makes another unhappy noise.

"I might have broken your box spring," Eric says sheepishly, in response to the sound.

Wendy looks at him with her brown, almond shaped eyes half-lidded. "We could break it more," she offers, quirking an eyebrow.

Eric all but jumps straight up. _"What?"_ he asks, incredulously, furrowing his brow. He isn't sure if she's joking or not. He hopes she is.

Wendy shrugs. "I mean, we _could._ If you want to."

"You don't seriously want to have sex with me, do you?" Eric asks, propping himself up on his elbow. He thinks this is extremely bizarre. They've kissed before. Twice. But it's never gone any further than that and Eric feels like that's probably for a good reason.

She flips over onto her stomach. "I've only ever had sex with Stan. Stan! I just want to... try new things, you know?" She is feeling pretty wasted but so is Eric.

He considers it. It's been a while since anyone has wanted to have sex with him and his last sexual experience was the jack-a-thon in his dorm with Kyle that he's pretty embarrassed about, as hot as it was in the moment. "I don't even have a condom," he says, finally.

"I'm on birth control," Wendy says. "And I think it's pretty safe to say _you_ of all people don't have an STD."

Eric lets out an offended guffaw. "Rude!"

"I'm just saying!" cries Wendy. Her hands are on his arm now. "I just want to know what it's like."

Eric breathes out. "What about lube?"

"Why would you need lube?"" she asks.

"Oh, right. I forgot you have a vagina," he says. "I haven't had sex with a vagina in a _long_ time." That was true. He had sex with Heidi Turner a few times back in high school but it's been boys gone wild since he started college.

"Yeah," Wendy says, flatly. She gets up and sits on her knees, flipping her long, sleek, black hair over her shoulder. "Anyhow, what do you think?"

"Eh," Eric says, uncertainly. "Fuck it, fine. Let's make this quick." He heaves himself up and takes her by the waist, pushing her down into the pillows. She's so much smaller than him and anyone he's been with before that he's almost afraid that he'll break her. He hesitates to kiss her but she kisses him first and he goes along with it. They're both drunk so it's sloppy and wet and clumsy. Wendy is shimmying out of her leggings at some point, balling her fist up in Eric's shirt.

After a minute, Eric sits up and undoes his belt and the front button of his pants. He thumbs at her clit through her panties and laughs when she whimpers.

"You really need it, huh?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "You reeeeally want my cock, don't you?"

Wendy forces herself to roll her eyes. "Don't act so full of yourself, Eric," she says as he pulls her underwear down.

She plays with her breasts, awkwardly. It's almost force of habit. She's always been insecure about the smallness of her bust but Stan always liked to feel them up and watch her do the same. Eric doesn't seem to notice, though. He's busy doing other things.

Eric shoves two fingers inside her, hastily. It's wet enough but she yelps a little anyhow but it turns into a soft moan as he curls and uncurls his fingers quickly inside her. With his other hand, he's rubbing himself through his boxers since he's still only semi-hard. By this point, he's pretty sure vaginas aren't really his thing but he still thinks he can make this work. It takes a few minutes but, eventually, he's hard enough to continue.

He stops fingering her and rolls down the top of his boxers, letting his cock pop free. He strokes it a few times for good measure before holding her legs apart at the knee and pushing into her, brusquely. She lets out a little cry of pleasure. Eric groans as well. Girls may or may not really be his thing but her pussy is warm and wet and tight as all hell and he has to admit that it feels pretty damn good.

"You're fuckin' tight," he grunts. "Marsh must not be very big, huh?" He shoots her an impish grin.

"Please don't talk about Stan right now," Wendy whines as Eric pushes her shirt up over her stomach. He puts a large hand right below her belly button and pushes down slightly so that he can feel himself inside her.

If he wasn't hard before, he's hard now. His hands move to her hips and he's pounding into her, roughly, and he can feel the head of his cock bump against the bottom of her cervix with each, uneven thrust.

Wendy tries to wrap her legs around his waist but he's so much bigger and broader than she's used to. Her eyes are wide and fixated on the shameless sight of Eric's length slipping gracelessly in and out of her. She is dripping wet and Eric's cock is so slick that every movement evokes loud, sloppy noises.

"Oh god," she gasps.

He toys her clit with his thumb and she writhes upwards, grasping for anything she can hold onto. Her fingers settle on the fabric of the bed sheets and she pulls them so hard that they pop off the corner of the bed.

When she orgasms she screams and Eric can feel it as she pulses around him.

She doesn't want to admit that she thought of Stan as she did.

"That good?" Eric pants, not slowing down at all, his grip on her hips tightening as she tenses rhythmically.

"Mmh," Wendy whimpers, still squirming into him.

As great as it feels to be inside her, Eric isn't sure if he's going to be able to finish. He's fucking _Wendy_ and he likes Wendy and all but, somewhere in his drunken mind, he knows that something isn't right. He'll be damned if he isn't going to try, though.

He pulls out, abruptly. "Hands and knees," he says, gruffly. It sounds more commanding than he anticipates. But, hell, he's impatient.

Wendy gives him a wary look but does as she's been told.

Eric has always been more of an ass man and he doesn't stop to come to the conclusion of why that is. But, as he turns her over and spreads her cheeks apart, his cock throbs.

"How do you feel about anal?" he asks, eyeing her up.

"No," says Wendy, with finality, shooting a lukewarm look back over her shoulder

"Fine, fine, it was worth a shot," Eric sighs, running his finger down the cleft of her ass as he presses his dick back into the wetness of her pussy with a groan. From this angle he's able to push into her even deeper. He exhales deeply, holding her tightly by the hips, slamming into her in broken thrusts.

From behind he can pretend she's someone else, especially when he closes his eyes. As he gets closer to climax, his thoughts grow more and more erratic and, eventually, he's pretending he's fucking some alternate universe version of Kyle with a vagina. The thought of Kyle alone is enough to send him over the edge and he does so with a series of quiet gasps. It's been about a week since his last orgasm so he cums hard, pushing into Wendy as deeply as he can, shuddering as he empties his load in thick spurts.

"Christ," he gulps, pulling out and flopping down onto the bed on his back, panting. He's pretty out of breath. "How was that?"

"The antithesis of sex with Stan, that's for sure," Wendy says, laying on her stomach. She reaches back and feels Eric's seed dripping out of her. "You really rallied, huh?"

"I'll take that as a compliment." Eric stares up at the ceiling, uneasily. "Can I be honest?"

"Of course," says Wendy.

"I thought about Kyle there, at the end," he says, softly and ponderously.

Wendy breathes a laugh. "That's okay. I thought about Stan," she confesses.

"Boy, we suck, don't we?" says Eric. He means it as a joke but it still sounds pretty serious. They lay together in silence, still only half clothed, for a while until Eric sits up. He pulls up his pants and runs his hand through his chestnut colored hair. "I'm sweaty," he says. "I'm gonna use your shower."

"Okay," says Wendy. She grabs some tissues from her nightstand and uses them to clean herself up a bit. There's a lot to clean up so she grabs a few more. "I'll be here." She starts the task of putting her underwear back on.

Eric meanders to the bathroom, stumbling slightly. He's feeling dizzy and he hopes the shower will sober him up a little bit. Stripping out of his clothes he turns on the water so it's shockingly cold and steps in, hissing at the pin-pricking sensation on his skin. After a minute he realizes that the cold water isn't helping and he's just drunk _and_ wet _and_ freezing. He turns the knob to hot and it's much more comfortable. He lets the water run over his naked body as the heat steams up the entire room.

He washes himself, quickly, taking extra care to gently scrub the scent of Wendy off his penis. He turns the water off and steps out, toweling himself off briskly. He puts his clothes back on and is disappointed that, even though he's clean now, they still smell like sweat and sex.

Back in the bedroom, he stands in the doorway. Wendy is asleep on the bed, curled up on her side in nothing but her tank top and panties. Eric watches her sleep for a moment before covering her with a blanket and going out into the living room. He sits on the couch and lights a cigarette from his pocket. Wendy and Bebe don't like it when he smokes in the house but he figures Wendy could make an exception for now.

He inhales it deeply, feeling the smoke fill every inch of his lungs, and breathes out a long exhale, forming pale gray clouds from his lips. He uses Wendy's empty wine glass as an ashtray, flicking still smoldering cinders in from the tip of his cigarette.

The combination of nicotine, alcohol, and sex has him feeling pretty relaxed for once. When he finishes his smoke, he puts it out in an empty beer bottle and lays down on the couch, resting his head on a throw pillow. He closes his eyes.


	2. Twin Sized Mattress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you get two chapters this week because I'm fuckin' blasting through this fic and I'm really excited about it <3

When Eric opens his eyes again, it's two in the morning.

He sits up and rubs his eyes. He still feels pretty drunk but he feels a little less dizzy than he did before falling asleep. He stretches and cracks his back. He gets up and goes to the bathroom to pee, looking at himself in the mirror afterwards, frowning. He feels weird about tonight. The sex was great but he feels like he shouldn't have done it. Not with Wendy. He's afraid of where things will go from here. He also has the sinking feeling that Stan will literally kill him if he finds out about this. And then he thinks about Kyle. He's always thinking about Kyle.

He leaves the bathroom and stops in Wendy's doorway again, checking in on her. She's still asleep, snoring now. She looks peaceful and he hopes she'll sleep until morning. He decides that he can't stick around for that, though. He _really_ doesn't want to have a sober conversation about the events that transpired here tonight.

Back in the living room, he shoves his feet back in his shoes and finds his varsity Letterman jacket behind the couch, slipping it on. He notices an open and still mostly full bottle of beer on the coffee table and grabs it, drinking it down for good measure. It's flat and warm and he makes a face, but finishes it none the less. He's never been one to waste alcohol.

He leaves the apartment, locking the door as he does. In the parking lot, he realizes that he'll have to walk home. It's not a big deal, really. He only lives about a mile away and the walk is dark and quiet and he can smoke another cigarette and listen to music on his phone while he walks.. He's out of shape now, though, so he's sweating and panting by the time he reaches the men's dormitory where he lives.

The suite he shares with Kyle is on the second floor. They hadn't chosen to room together but apparently fate had made that decision for them, though, they're both pretty sure it was because their last names come alphabetically in succession.

He climbs the flight of stairs to his door and can't figure out how to open the damn door. He's silently cursing the fact that he drank that last beer before leaving Wendy's apartment as he accidentally tries to jam his car keys into the keyhole. He only has four keys on his lanyard but it still takes him six tries until he finally gives up and bangs on the door, loudly, with his fist.

Kyle answers after a second, staring at him, tiredly. He's in his university sweatpants and an old band t-shirt and he doesn't have his glasses on. His desk lamp is on and his laptop is open on his bed so Eric thinks it's safe to assume that he hadn't been sleeping.

"I lost my keys," Eric lies.

Kyle cocks an eyebrow. "Are you drunk?"

Eric pushes past him, into the living area where their beds are. It's a nice, decently sized dorm with a kitchenette and bathroom. "Maybe," he says in response. He knows he smells like beer and sweat and cigarettes and maybe like sex and he hopes Kyle can't tell what he's been doing.

"Where were you?" asks Kyle.

Eric rolls his eyes and tosses his jacket on his desk chair. "Jesus Christ, can you not interrogate me the second I walk in the door?" He just wants to go back to sleep. He pulls his shirt off and throws it on the floor, belly flopping onto his twin-sized bed. "Goodnight," he mumbles into his pillow.

Kyle kicks him, hard, in the leg. "Get up," he says.

"Jew, I'm fucking exhausted," Eric gripes, rolling onto his side.

"Yeah, well, I wanted to talk to you about something, fat ass," Kyle says. He's standing there with his arms crossed, looking especially serious and a little annoyed. Eric can't help but get a little aroused when Kyle is looking at him all feisty like that. His fiery hair is also a mess and Eric wants nothing more than to have his fist in those unkempt curls while he fucks him from behind like he pretended to do when he was with Wendy earlier.

"Alright," Eric says, squinting at him in the dim light. "What did I do _this_ time?"

"It's nothing like that," Kyle says. He shifts his weight on his feet, anxiously, uncrossing his arms and putting them firmly on his hips instead. "I just..." He trails off and thinks for a minute. "Are we gonna talk about this ever?"

"About _what?"_ asks Eric, sitting up. "About me being drunk?"

"No, idiot," Kyle snaps with a huff. "About... You know..." He pantomimes jerking off.

Eric snorts. "What's there to talk about?" He laughs, despite his ears turning red. Kyle is blushing really hard right now and it's pretty cute, Eric thinks. "But, you know, I'll keep my jerk sessions to the bathroom if you can't control yourself around me," he jokes.

"That's not... I don't..." Kyle stammers, looking embarrassed and irritated. "Isn't it maybe something more than that? Like, doesn't it _mean_ something?"

"What? No," Eric says. He's acutely afraid that Kyle has caught on to his feelings and decides that he needs to cover his own ass. "That's just guys being dudes."

"I... I don't think so," says Kyle, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Yeah, don't you and Stan ever do that?"

"No!" Kyle exclaims. "That's not a _bro_ _activity."_

"Then I don't get what you're implying," Eric says, playing dumb. He leans back on his hands and raises his eyebrows at him.

Kyle huffs, frustratedly, crossing his arms again. "I'm just _saying_ that I thought maybe you wanted to try doing more than that."

Eric's eyes widen. "Do I?"

"Do you?" Kyle presses.

"Do _you?"_ Eric shoots the question back at him like a goddamn game of ping-pong.

"Maybe!" Kyle shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. Kyle is always very expressive with his hands when he talks. It's a Jewish thing. "God, you're so fucking infuriating!"

Eric is a little aghast. "You fucking what?"

"I just thought there was some sexual tension there or something," Kyle says, exhaling loudly through his nose. "How fucking stupid." He rolls his eyes and turns to go back to his own bed.

"Wait, no," says Eric, jumping to his feet. He's standing in front of him now, towering over him, as Kyle glares upwards at him. Kyle is tall but he definitely hasn't had the same degree of growth spurt that Eric had in high school.

"What?" asks Kyle; he frowns and takes a step back. Eric's height can be intimidating sometimes when you're really up close and not expecting it.

Eric isn't actually sure what he's going to say. There's a lot that he _wants_ to say. He wants to say _"I'm desperately in love with you and I have been for years. I can't get you out of my head and I'm attracted to everything about you."_

And he wants to say something poetic along the lines of _"I would die for you. I would kill for you. I want to cherish you every day and hold you every night."_

And he also really wants to say _"I want to fuck you so badly. I cum to the thought of you on a regular basis. I can hardly sleep because of how much I want you."_

But what he actually says is:

"Do you wanna make out?"

Kyle stares at him, blankly, for a moment before wrinkling his nose and laughing. "Dude," he says but when Eric's expression doesn't change his face falls. "Oh, shit, you're serious."

"Of course I'm serious!" Eric shouts, turning around and pacing through their room for a few laps. "How do you just not notice that I've been in love with you for like twelve fucking years!?" he blurts out, instantly regretting it. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Oh fuck."

Kyle is wide eyed and speechless, which, for him, is a huge deal. "I... I..." he stammers.

Eric knows he should just shut up before he says anything else stupid but he's all riled up now and still buzzed and he can't keep his fat mouth shut. "You know, I had sex tonight," he says. "I had sex with somebody and all I could think about was _you!_ All I can _ever_ think about is you!" He runs his fingers through his hair, anxiously. He desperately feels like he needs a Xanax but he knows he can't since he's been drinking. He continues yammering on to the very stunned iteration of Kyle that is currently standing there, slack-jawed.

"You're so fucking smart, Kyle," Eric says. "You're probably the smartest fucking person I know but you're so goddamn _oblivious_ about everything!" His heart is in his throat right now and he feels like he might throw up. He blames that on being drunk. Hell, he blames all of this on being drunk.

"Can you just fucking calm down for a second," Kyle says, finally. He exhales noisily through his nose. "Just gimme a minute."

Eric shakes his head. "I gotta go have a smoke," he says, picking his shirt up off the floor and tugging it on over his head. He heads for the door but Kyle body blocks him.

"Cartman!" says Kyle. "Fucking stop! I want to talk about this!"

"What do you want me to say?" Eric asks, exasperated. "What else is there _to_ say?"

"Christ, just fucking kiss me already, asshole," Kyle huffs.

Eric loses the ability to speak this time. Kyle is standing in front of him now, crossing his arms. His eyes are bright and green and smoldering. Looking down at him, Eric furrows his brow. He shifts warily on his feet. "Uh..."

Kyle frowns. "Well? I thought y-"

He doesn't get a chance to finish the thought because Eric is suddenly kissing him, deeply and fervently. Kyle is surprised at first and gasps against his lips but quickly leans into him, returning the kiss with a hot, open mouth. Eric holds him at his shoulders and Kyle rests his hands against him, feeling his rapid heartbeat though the broadness of his chest.

Eric takes a step forward, pinning Kyle against the door with a thud and Kyle reaches up and traces his fingers along Eric's jawline and the prickly stubble there. He lets out a small moan when Eric bites softly down on his bottom lip.

Eric's fingers are bunched up in Kyle's curly, red hair now, tugging on it just like he's always wanted to do. It feels like a dream. "Fuck," he mutters, kissing him desperately. He's so hard right now that he can hardly stand it. His cock throbs in his pants as Kyle's tongue slips between his lips and grazes along the inside of his cheek.

"Your bed," Kyle whispers. Being pushed against the wall is hot but he's so nervous and shaky that he feels like his knees might give out on him.

Eric backs up, bringing Kyle with him, and falls back onto his mattress, rolling onto his side, cupping Kyle's ass as he kisses him some more. He groans loudly as Kyle's lips move to his neck and then to his earlobe, pulling on it with his teeth. "Fuck," he mumbles again. "Can I go down on you?"

Kyle nods and turns onto his back, trembling as Eric starts kissing down his body, eventually reaching the waistline of his sweatpants and pulls them down over his dick. He's painfully erect and already twitching and drooling precum. Eric hums delightedly as he licks up and down the shaft and plants a wet kiss on the head. He circles it with his tongue, teasingly.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Kyle moans, running his fingers through Eric's soft, brown hair. He involuntarily pulls on it and bucks upwards when Eric takes him fully into his mouth and sucks voraciously. "You're so good," he whimpers.

Eric knows he is. Blow jobs are a sport and he is absolutely winning.

With one hand he strokes the shaft roughly while he sucks on the head and with the other hand, he gently fondles his balls. He really loves that Kyle's pubes are as frizzy and red as his hair. It's a thought he has been daydreaming about for years and the confirmation is satisfying.

He also loves the confirmation that Kyle is extremely vocal when getting his dick sucked. He knows this from the fact that he's been whining and cursing and breathing heavily the entire time. Kyle blushes as Eric looks up at him from behind his long eyelashes.

"Ah," Kyle mewls, twitching, and biting down, hard, on his lip. He watches as Eric bobs up and down on his cock, enthralled by the sight. "Fuck, that's hot."

Eric's heart skips a beat and his dick aches in his pants. He suddenly sits up, leaving a string of drool. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, undoes his belt, and pulls off his pants as Kyle observes, unblinking.

"I need you to touch me or I'm gonna die," Eric says.

Kyle nods, licking his lips. "Uh huh. Just kiss me first."

Eric lays down parallel to him, running his hand up Kyle's stomach under his shirt, and kissing him ardently. Kyle grabs him by the hip and pulls him closer and then takes both of their cocks in his hand and jerks them briskly together. They're still slick with spit and precum and it feels pretty damn amazing. Eric moans loudly into Kyle's shoulder and grabs his ass, roughly.

"Is that okay?" Kyle asks, panting against him. He's moving his hand really fast now and he's beginning to feel that elusive warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach.

"Yeah," says Eric with a low growl. "You gotta slow down, though, or I'm gonna cum..."

"That's fine- ah! I'm really close," Kyle says, punctuated by breathy moans. "Oh fuck, Cartman," he barely makes out before climaxing. With his free hand he's holding onto Eric's shirt and with the other stroking rapidly. He cries out in short bursts as he orgasms, shooting thick ropes of cum onto Eric's stomach. Before he's finished, Eric cums as well, with a loud grunt, spattering all the way up to Kyle's chest, making a mess of both their shirts. There's plenty of it, he thinks in his post-orgasmic haze. He assumed he wouldn't have anything left in him after the night he's had but it seems he's saved the best for last.

Kyle whimpers, sensitive, as their still throbbing cocks rub together and leak the last little dribbles of cum onto each other. He kisses Eric gently, long and slow, and exhales into him. "Goddamn," he says.

"Mmm," Eric mumbles, sleepily, nuzzling against Kyle's cheek. He's warm and breathless. "That was fuckin' sweet."

Kyle grabs a used towel that Eric had left hanging on the bedpost and wipes them clean as best as he can, given their position. He feels like he should get up and clean off but he can't bring himself to move.

"So, twelve years, huh?" he asks, teasingly.

"Actually, probably closer to thirteen," says Eric, running his fingers through Kyle's curls. "Just a really long time."

Kyle is quiet for a while, thinking. "So... you had sex with somebody tonight?" he asks in a low voice.

Eric gulps. "Yeah but..." He isn't quite sure how to explain it. Especially since his entire sexcapade with Wendy wasn't nearly as good as just having Kyle touch and kiss him. "I don't know. It was with a girl and I don't think I really even like girls. It didn't mean anything. Just somethin' to pass time, I guess."

"Hm," says Kyle. He makes a point to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Who was it? Do I know her?"

"Why, Kyle! Are you perhaps _jealous?"_ Eric taunts, giving Kyle a smug grin.

Kyle's face reddens. "No!" he cries, indignantly. "Just curious!" He is most certainly not just curious and the envy tugs at his heart but he lets it go.

"Well, I'm not gonna tell you, you nosy Jew!" says Eric with a huff. "Besides, you wouldn't like the answer anyhow." He knows that he cannot, under any circumstances, tell Kyle about Wendy. He also knows that he _cannot_ let Stan, specifically, know about Wendy. In fact, nobody can know that he had filthy, drunken sex with Wendy Testaburger.

Kyle snorts. "Okay, asshole," he says but doesn't push it and Eric sighs with relief. "Guess it's been a busy night for you then." There's a little bit of spite in his voice but not too much.

"It's been an exhausting night, is what it's been. I need to sleep," Eric says, staring up at the ceiling. He's overwhelmed by how tired he is. He can feel it in his bones.

"Yeah, I should clean up," says Kyle. He goes to sit up but Eric stops him with his hand on his chest.

"Wait."

"What?"

"Stay here with me," Eric says in a sleepy, syrupy voice.

"Hmm," says Kyle, shifting on the bed. "It's a little small..."

Eric casts his eyes downward. "Oh, okay."

Kyle purses his lips. "Well... I mean... I guess we could make it work."

Eric hums contentedly into Kyle's hair. His eyelids are already drooping.

Kyle is pretty exhausted too, especially since orgasms always tend to make him tired. Despite the stickiness on his stomach and the lack of elbow room on the twin sized mattress, he's still pretty comfortable. He and Eric have had this sort of intermittent accumulating sexual tension for years and it feels right that it's finally come to fruition. He doesn't know how either of them are going to feel in the morning but, for now, he lets sleep take him.


	3. French Toast and Syrup

It's nearly four in the morning at this point and, in a dorm room a floor upstairs, Stan can't sleep. He's tossing and turning in his bed. Unlike his friends' scenario, his bed feels much too big for just him and he misses Wendy's lithe frame sleeping next to him like she usually does on the weekend. He has a roommate, Bryan, but he goes home from Friday to Monday so Stan ends up being all by himself. He rolls over and sighs against his pillow, knocking several used tissues onto the floor.

Stan isn't used to being alone. His relationship with Wendy has spanned over a decade and he's only twenty-two-years-old. This isn't the first time they've broken up and it probably won't be the last but that doesn't help him feel any better when he's right in the thick of it. He's over twenty-four hours post breakup and it still feels just as raw as it did the minute Wendy told him she needed a break.

College dormitories aren't usually the quietest places in the universe but, right now, Stan thinks he might die from the silence. He debates texting one of his friends but figures they're probably not awake at this hour. He really wishes Kyle was there to talk him through it. He and Kyle have been best friends forever and he always knows exactly what to say when things get bad like this.

He'd consider texting Eric since he's usually out drinking on Friday nights and he's weirdly good at dealing with breakups but knows that's probably a mistake since he's gotten to be such close friends with Wendy and is bound to take her side.

He doesn't really have anyone else (aside from Kenny but that's an entirely different can of worms) and it's killing him inside. He shoots a message to Kyle anyhow, in the off chance that he's awake to read it.

' _hey u up?'_

_-_

Kyle doesn't see the message until eight AM. When he wakes up, he's sweaty and tangled up in Eric's heavy limbs and he squints at the light breaking through the blinds in even lines. He hasn't slept for long but he's usually too high strung to sleep for more than four or five hours at a time anyhow. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and shifts against Eric, slipping out from under him and pausing to make sure he hasn't woken the beast. Eric snores softly and rolls over, clutching a pillow as a replacement snuggle buddy.

Kyle gets up and looks down at his cum-stained shirt with disdain. He strips out of it and tosses it in his laundry hamper, rubbing his bare stomach idly. He crosses the room and sits down on the edge of his bed, running his hand through his hair, his fingers catching on the tangles.

His phone is dead since he didn't charge it before his super gay frottage adventure with Eric the night before so he plugs it in and heads to the bathroom for a quick shower.

After he's sufficiently clean, he towels off his hair and body and slips into a pair of boxers before coming out of the bathroom. He passes by his dresser and flops down on his own bed on his side, looking to see if his phone has charged at all in the ten minutes he's been gone. It has and he checks his messages. He sees the one from Stan and feels a little guilty for not seeing it several hours ago.

He knows that Stan probably really needs a shoulder to cry on right now and he feels like a bad friend. So, he pulls on a pair of skinny jeans and a v-necked t-shirt. He puts on his glasses and can see a little better. He started wearing glasses in the eighth grade and his vision isn't _that_ bad but he gets headaches when he goes more than a couple hours without them. These days he has a pair of thin rectangular, black plastic frames that fit his face really well. He fixes his hair hastily in the reflection on his phone and slips on his worn out converse sneakers and quietly slinks out the door without waking Eric.

Stan's dorm is one floor up and Kyle takes the back stairwell to get there. He knows that Stan very rarely locks his door so he's able to burst right in. Stan sits up in bed, immediately.

"Kyle!" he cries.

"Hey, dude," says Kyle, closing the door behind him. "Sorry I didn't see your text. It was an... _interesting..._ night."

Stan rubs the sleep from his eyes. He looks tired and miserable. There are prominent bags under his eyes and he needs to shave. "That's okay, man. I just... ugh." He flops back onto his pillow. "I miss Wendy and I feel like a pussy."

"You're not a pussy. You have every right to be upset," says Kyle, leaning against Stan's desk. "But, hey. I know you guys. I'm sure you'll be back together soon."

Stan sighs. "I hope so. I love her, Kyle."

"I know you do. You guys are like a matched set or something. I'm sure she misses you too."

"Do you think I should just give her space? Or do you think she wants me to try and win her back?" asks Stan.

"She probably just wants a little bit of space," says Kyle. "You know how it is. You guys have been together... forever, essentially. I think getting a little bit of distance for a couple of weeks will be a good thing. It'll probably make your relationship even stronger."

"A few weeks!?" cries Stan. "I can't even handle three days!"

"It'll get easier, I'm sure," Kyle says.

Stan lets out a heavy breath. "Yeah, okay. I really hope so. This is killing me, dude. Do you think she's gonna sleep with other people?" He grimaces at the thought.

Kyle shrugs. "I don't know but it's probably not good to get hung up on the idea of it. Just give her a week or two and then hit her up and see how she's doing."

"Okay," Stan says. He stares at the ceiling for a minute and then sits up. "So why was your night so interesting?"

Kyle's cheeks turn a bright shade of pink. "Okay, so, I told you about the... thing... with me and Cartman, right?"

"Yeah, you jerked off together, right? No big deal, though."

"Yes it _is_ a big deal! Why does everyone keep saying its not!?" Kyle exclaims.

"That's just guys being dudes."

"No it isn't!"

"Right so anyhow, what about it?" Stan asks.

Kyle exhales loudly through his nose. "Okay, so, uh... He told me he's in love with me..." he says, slowly.

"Dude," says Stan. "He's _been_ in love with you! Everyone knows that!"

"Not me?? Apparently??" Kyle yelps, throwing up his hands. He feels like he's been left out of some big secret for the past decade. It's especially jarring when the secret so deeply involved himself.

Stan gives him a sympathetic look. "So what did you say?"

Kyle purses his lips. "Not a whole lot but... We did some stuff..."

"Kyle, you're my best friend and I love you but I _really_ don't want to hear details about your sex life with Cartman," says Stan.

Kyle scoffs. "Sex life." He puts his hands on his hips. "We didn't fuck. We just... made out a bunch and then... other stuff..." He trails off to spare Stan the raunchy details of the night.

"I bet he's pretty pleased with himself," says Stan. "How are you feeling about it? You do like him back, don't you?" Stan is pretty certain that Kyle's been just as obsessed with Eric as Eric has been with him but Kyle isn't the kind of person who really _talks_ about these sort of things.

Kyle paces slightly, letting out a long breath. "Of course I do. I kind of hate that I do but yeah, I do. It's honestly really annoying how hot he is now." He rolls his eyes. "What am I supposed to do though, Stan?"

"Well, do you want to date him?"

Kyle thinks for a minute. Immediately, the thought is repulsive but the more he weighs it over in his mind, the more appealing it sounds. "Maybe. I'm considering it."

Stan shrugs. "Maybe you should try talking to him about it."

Kyle wrinkles up his nose in disgust. The idea of talking about his feelings with Eric Cartman isn't really what he wants to do with his time. Mostly, he just wants to do some more kissing and touching and maybe holding hands or something sometime. The feelings part is inconvenient. "I could try," he resigns, eventually.

"There you go, then," Stan says. "It's kind of the opposite of a problem, don't you think?"

"I guess so," says Kyle. "Hey, I'm sorry for talking about relationship shit when you're having issues."

Stan shakes his head. "It's fine, man. Really. Do you wanna do something today? We can go get breakfast, if you want. I'll drive. Cartman can come too."

Kyle shifts on his feet. "Yeah, okay. I'll ask him. I've gotta run down and get my wallet."

"'Kay," Stan says. "I've gotta get dressed. I'll meet you in the parking lot."

Kyle nods and leaves, taking the back stairwell again. He hurries to his dorm and unlocks the door. Eric isn't in bed anymore but steps out of the bathroom, which is right by the front door, as Kyle enters.

"Oh, hi," Eric says through a mouth of foam as he brushes his teeth.

"Hey. I went up to talk to Stan," Kyle says, rummaging around in the laundry hamper. He finally finds the pair of jeans he had worn yesterday and pulls his wallet out of the pocket. He often forgets that it's in there and he's sent it through the wash on multiple occasions.

Eric freezes for a second but then relaxes. "Okay. How's Marsh doin' anyhow?"

"Not great. Have you talked to Wendy."

"Yeah," Eric says slowly. He leans back into the bathroom to spit in the sink. "She's not great either." He fills up a paper cup with water to rinse his mouth.

"Stan thinks she's going to sleep with other people while they're broken up," says Kyle.

Eric chokes on his water.

"You okay?" Kyle asks.

"Yeah," Eric sputters. "Yeah, I'm fine. Great, even."

Kyle quirks an eyebrow. "Okay. Well, do you wanna get breakfast with me and Stan?"

"Maybe. I'm fuckin' hungover as shit," Eric says, clearing his throat. He's really not too keen on the idea of hanging out with Stan today since he slept with Wendy the night before. He thinks that the addition of Kyle after _their_ night as well might add to the awkwardness. He's afraid he'll let something slip and be killed on the spot by both of them. On the other hand, a big greasy breakfast tends to be his favorite hangover remedy.

"Well, I'll buy," Kyle offers.

Eric narrows his eyes at him. "Hm. Suspicious."

"How is that suspicious!?" Kyle exclaims.

"First you let me kiss you and then you make me cum and _then_ you offer to buy me breakfast. I'm just saying, for a Jew, you're being pretty generous and I feel like you're lulling me into a false sense of security."

Kyle scoffs loudly. "Cartman, you dumbass," he says. "Maybe it's because I like you, you piece of shit."

"Oh," says Eric. "Weird."

"Yeah, I'll say."

Eric shoots him a smug grin. "So, I've got you wrapped right around my finger then, huh Kyle?" he asks, batting his eyelashes cartoonishly.

Kyle rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fucking smitten," he says, sarcastically. "So are you coming to breakfast or what?"

"Hm, nah. I don't wanna make Marsh feel like a third wheel since you're hopelessly in love with me or something," says Eric.

"Right, whatever," Kyle says. "Suit yourself. I'll see you later, then." He stuffs his wallet in his back pocket and unplugs his phone that he had put on to charge earlier.

"Adios," Eric says, ducking back into the bathroom as Kyle leaves. Once he's gone, he lets out a long exhale. "Oh, fuck me."

-

Meanwhile, back at Wendy's apartment, she's awake and making her own breakfast. She's standing in front of the kitchen stove when the door unlocks and Bebe walks in with her suitcase.

"Hey bitch," says Bebe.

"Hey, how was California?" Wendy says. "You're just in time for breakfast. Do you want French toast?"

Bebe throws her suitcase down on the couch. "Fuck yeah, I'm starving. I should have been back last night but my plane got delayed in San Diego for some reason. But whatever. C'est la vie." She tosses her curly blonde hair over her shoulder as she takes off her red faux fur overcoat and hangs it on the coat rack. "Cali was good, though. Check out my tan."

Wendy brings two plates of steaming French toast to their little round kitchen table and sets them down by the maple syrup. "Bone app the teeth," Wendy says, sitting down.

Bebe clatters down at the table. "Thanks, babe," she says. She notices the trash can full of empty beer bottles and the half-full wine and Everclear bottles on the counter. "Jesus, Wendy, did you have a fucking rager last night or what?"

"No," says Wendy. "Eric came over and we got drunk." She very purposefully leaves out the sex part. She's honestly embarrassed about it and isn't sure what came over her. Asking Eric Cartman for sex was never on the list of things she thought she would do in her life.

"Uh oh," says Bebe. "What did Stan do this time?"

At the mention of Stan's name, Wendy loses her appetite a little but she swallows thickly and continues putting syrup on her French toast. "Nothing. We're just... We're taking a break... Just for a little while."

Bebe drops her fork. "Shit, are you okay?"

Wendy shrugs. "I'm hanging in there."

"You should have called me and I would have moved my flight up so I could be here to support you! Best bitches for life!"

"You would have missed your grandpa's funeral!"

"So?" says Bebe. "He was a creep anyhow."

Wendy snorts softly, taking a bite of her food and chewing slowly. "Thanks, Bebe."

Bebe nods. "So was it you or Eric who was into the fucking Everclear?"

"That was Eric, obviously. He did like two shots of it."

"Damn," says Bebe. "Ballsy." She pauses to take a bite. "Wendy, this is so fucking good and I'm so glad you're my roommate and my best friend."

Wendy smirks. Bebe is consistently a mess but she loves her anyhow. She chuckles a bit to herself when she remembers Eric's suggestion to date her instead.

Bebe is probably the prettiest girl in the world, Wendy thinks to herself in a totally not lesbian way. Her golden hair is always in perfect crimpy ringlets, her makeup is always glamorously flawless, and her fingernails are perfectly manicured bright red claws. She's roughly six feet tall but her legs are amazing and she never shies away from a heel.

Wendy is just gathering the dishes when her phone chimes from the couch. It's Eric.

_'im hung over as balls'_

_'i gotta tell u abt what happened when i went home'_


	4. Make Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Here's an early chapter for the week (I'm still going to update on Saturday as well) because I'm bored and I thrive on feedback. And also because I just finished writing chapter nine so I'm feeling pretty on the ball. I hope you enjoy!

The week passes, uneventfully. Kyle aces his civics exam which is honestly just a given at this point. He's made the Dean's List every semester since freshman year of college and he's never gotten below a B+ on a paper or exam in as long as he can remember.

It's Friday again now and Kyle and Eric are sitting in the nosebleed section of the university stadium, watching the football players give each other concussions. It's fairly crowded and loud but spectators are pretty scarce in the back where they are. Kyle wanted to sit closer to the field but Eric argued against it so he could sit near the concession stand.

Eric is sitting in the end seat of the aisle next to Kyle. He's leaning back with his feet kicked up on the seat in front of him. In one hand he has a soft pretzel and his other arm is loosely draped around the back of Kyle's chair. He's almost got his arm around him but they're not quite touching.

It's a cool September evening and Eric's got his Letterman jacket and a red wool scarf on. Kyle's got on a dark green pullover hoodie and his favorite hat and his brown lace-up boots.

"This is lame," Eric says, after a while.

"You didn't have to come," Kyle shoots back, watching the game.

Eric frowns. "I'm just saying they've played better."

"I'd like to see you out there then," says Kyle before remembering that Eric actually was good at football. He had a great body type for offensive tackle and was absolutely fearless on the field. He had played in high school for a while before switching to wrestling and could probably gain a spot on either team if he wasn't so vehemently against exercising at this point in life.

To Kyle's surprise, though, Eric doesn't add a retort. He merely hums to himself and watches the game with narrowed eyes.

Kyle sighs and hauls himself to his feet. "I'm gonna go get a soda. Move."

Eric reluctantly puts his feet briefly back on the ground and lets Kyle pass. "Get me one too," he says.

"We'll see," Kyle says, pushing past him.

Eric glances out of the corner of his eye to watch him leave and then turns his attention to his phone. He finishes his soft pretzel and plays Candy Crush until Kyle gets back.

"Move," Kyle says again, kicking him lightly in the leg. He's holding two Styrofoam cups. "I got you a Coke."

Eric looks up at him. "What's the password?"

Kyle scoffs. "The password is 'I got you a Coke so move or I'll kick your ass,'" he says.

"Hm," says Eric. "Nope. Sorry. Try again."

"Okay, fuck off then," Kyle says. He sticks one of the sodas in Eric's cup holder and decides to sit directly in his lap instead.

"Oof," says Eric. "Excuse me, Jew, you're blocking my view." He actually finds Kyle sitting in his lap pretty endearing. He finds most things Kyle does endearing but his heat and closeness here makes some sort of burning warmth bubble up from the bottom of his heart.

"Yeah, well, you're blocking my way," Kyle says, indignantly, crossing his legs and taking a long sip from his drink. He sets it down in the other cup holder.

Eric huffs loudly. "Get off," he says.

"Make me," Kyle says, pressing himself down against him.

Eric isn't sure if that was meant to be as sexy as it sounded to him. The tone of Kyle's voice alone is enough to give him a semi but coupled with the feeling of his ass against him it gets him uncomfortably hard. He prays that Kyle hasn't noticed but, alas, that doesn't seem to be the case when Kyle glances down at him, intrigued.

"Interesting," Kyle says in a low voice, shifting purposefully.

Eric gulps. His face reddens significantly and he looks away, making a point not to make eye contact. He can almost feel the sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. They've only been intimate one other time in the past week and that was when they traded handjobs before bed on Monday. Eric isn't sure what he's thinking but Kyle has this sort of look in his eye that he doesn't often get.

"W-what are you looking at?" Eric mumbles, glancing up for only a split second.

"Nothing," Kyle says. He has a wry expression on his face that isn't quite a smirk. Eric thinks he's looking pretty damn smug, though. Kyle leans back more against him and Eric lets out a strained moan and his dick twitches.

"Don't _do_ that."

"Well," says Kyle, "I'm going to the bathroom." He pauses. "You can come if you want." He pushes himself up off of Eric's lap and walks towards the restrooms. He pauses a couple of feet away and turns back to see if Eric is following him.

For the first few seconds, Eric is too stunned to move. As soon as he gets over the initial shock he bolts to his feet, though, and follows Kyle a few meters behind.

Kyle leads him down the back corridor of the stadium to the bathrooms. It's the high point of the game so there's really no one around down here. At the end of the row of doors there's a single stall handicapped restroom. Kyle isn't usually one to use a handicapped stall when he doesn't need it but he makes an exception for this very moment.

He stands with his back to the wall and gestures to the door with his head. Eric goes in ahead of him and Kyle slips in quickly before the door closes, locking it behind him.

Eric swallows thickly, facing him. "So, what-" he starts but Kyle cuts him off, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him down into a hungry kiss. He whimpers against Kyle's teeth.

Kyle breathes a laugh, smirking and tilting his head to press their lips together at a different angle. "Don't get used to this," he whispers against Eric's mouth, letting his hands go from his cuff and dropping them to his waist, undoing Eric's belt buckle hastily, not breaking eye contact.

"I'll try not to," Eric stammers. He's almost trembling as Kyle opens the fly of his pants and slips his hands down between his skin and the elastic of his boxer briefs. He lets out a soft groan as Kyle touches him roughly.

"Just be quiet," Kyle commands. He crouches down, making sure not to touch the filthy bathroom floor with his knees. He let's Eric's cock out of its underwear prison and immediately takes it into his mouth, sucking it slowly and deliberately.

Eric has to cover his mouth with his palm to stifle a loud moan. He's fantasized about Kyle Broflovski sucking his dick since middle school so this is like a dream come true. "Oh my god," he groans into his hand, watching Kyle's mouth move on his cock. With his other hand, Eric knocks Kyle's hat back and grabs a fistful of his curly hair. "Shit."

In retaliation for the hair pulling Kyle languidly scrapes his teeth along Eric's shaft. He's surprised, however, when Eric responds with a high-pitched whine and his cock throbs. Kyle raises an eyebrow and looks up at him.

Eric chuckles sheepishly. "Heh. Uh, I don't know what that was," he says.

Kyle leans back for a second to get a breath, replacing his mouth with his hand, stroking quickly. "You slut," he chides in a lustful voice. He licks the head of his cock, wrapping his tongue around it, breathing his hot breath along the length.

He begins to suck on it again, taking him further into his mouth until he reaches the base and he gags a little.

"What? Too big for you?" Eric asks, smugly, bucking forward so Kyle gags again. He's a little shocked at how good Kyle's throat feels when he chokes and it tightens around him.

Kyle pulls back with a scowl for a second. "You fucking wish," he says before grazing his teeth against him once more and eliciting a desperate moan from Eric.

Kyle moves into an even rhythm again, bobbing his head back and forth as Eric whimpers quietly, running his fingers through Kyle's hair. Kyle's looking up at him behind his lenses and Eric thinks the glasses look is actually really hot.

Eric's breathing begins to quicken after a few moments and Kyle picks up on this at once and responds by speeding up and focusing on the head of his cock, sucking and licking eagerly. Eric's legs tremble and his grip on Kyle's curls tightens. He doesn't give Kyle any sort of verbal warning that he's about to climax but Kyle can tell anyhow. Eric lets out a long moan that he tries to stifle with his palm again to no avail and he explodes into Kyle's mouth.

Kyle swallows. The taste of semen has never bothered him but the texture is pretty gross so it's kind of a struggle for him but he's able to do it anyhow. It's mostly because making Eric cum like that is pretty thrilling.

Eric collapses against the wall, panting, with his eyes shut as he tries to regain composure. He's pretty sure that might have been the best orgasm of his entire life. He's almost caught his breath when Kyle stands up and grabs him by the collar again, pulling him back from the wall and into a hot, penetrating kiss. Eric can taste himself on Kyle's tongue and it's an amazing feeling.

He adjusts himself and pulls his pants back up and buckles his belt. "Thanks," he says, gruffly. "That was better than I imagined."

"You've thought about that a lot then?"

"Ch'yeah," Eric scoffs. "That was obvious."

Kyle then frowns. "But what's _that_ supposed to mean? Better than you expected?"

"I'm just saying! I didn't think you knew your way around a cock."

Kyle makes a sound of disbelief. "I have one, asshole. I think I know what feels good." He pauses, giving Eric a sultry side-eye. "Though, I didn't expect you to like being bitten."

Eric's cheeks pink up. "Uh, me either, so lets forget that ever happened."

"Oh, I'm never letting that go," says Kyle. He turns and attempts to fix his hair in the mirror. It's a complete mess from Eric's tugging and pulling. He wets his hand with water and tries to get it to sit down as best as he can. Eventually, he gives up and pulls his hat back on, hoping no one will notice. He's statistically had pretty untameable hair so he figures it's not unusual.

"Someday you've gotta let me cum on your stupid glasses," says Eric. He's developing new fantasies in his mind as he speaks.

Kyle barks a sarcastic laugh. "Yeah, no. That's not happening." He pauses. "And they're not stupid."

"Yeah, whatever you say," says Eric, "Let's go. I wanna get nachos before this thing is over."

Kyle rolls his eyes. "Of course you do." He unlocks the door and peeks out. Thankfully, the coast is clear and they're both able to slip out, unnoticed.

Kyle hesitates as Eric closes the door behind him. "I have to pee for real," he says. "I'll be right back."

"'Kay," Eric says as Kyle heads to the men's room. They're right by the concession stand and there isn't a line so Eric quickly buys his nachos and leans against a fence, munching on them.

"Hi, Eric!" someone says. It's Butters. He throws his arms around Eric in a big hug, kicking up his heel behind him.

Eric hugs back with one arm. "Hey, Butters. It's been a hot minute." It really has. The last time he had seen Butters they were... Well... It was certainly something, alright.

"It sure has!" says Butters. "How have you been?" Butters is wearing leggings as pants and a fuzzy hot pink jacket. He's got chunky heeled boots on so he's a couple of inches taller than he usually is and comes up to Eric's chin now. His bleach blonde hair is pinned to the left with a heart-shaped barrette and he's got eyeliner with wings so sharp they could cut a man.

"Things have been okay," Eric says. "You?"

"I've been really great!" says Butters. He glances up at Eric with his pretty blue eyes. "So, are you dating anyone?"

Eric makes a little bit of a strangled noise in his throat. This isn't a conversation he wants to have. Not with Butters. Not when the last time he hung out with Butters they had both gotten drunk at a party on cheap beer and took things up to a guest bedroom. He had gotten Butters' purple lip gloss all over his mouth and neck and shirt collar and when Butters pulled out a condom, he hadn't had it in him to refuse. It was a moment of weakness and he refused to acknowledge it. From the look in Butters' eye, though, it seems like he had thought about it a lot.

"Well... It's complicated..." says Eric.

"What's complicated?" Kyle asks, coming up behind him. He stands next to him, arms crossed, glancing at him, expectantly.

"Oh hi, Kyle!" says Butters. "I was just asking Eric about his love life."

Kyle looks at Eric, sizing him up. "He doesn't have one. It's not that complicated."

"Ouch," Eric says, scrunching up his nose.

Butters raises his eyebrows. "Oh? Really? That's surprising."

Kyle snorts and Eric frowns at him.

"See, Butters understands that I'm a fuckin' catch," Eric says, elbowing Kyle in the shoulder. "Isn't that right, Butters?"

Butters smirks and nods. "Well, I mean, you have my number if you ever want to call me, Eric," he says, a little sheepishly but with a suggestive undertone.

"Uh," Eric starts, his ears pinking a little bit, but Kyle cuts him off.

 _"Actually,_ he's seeing somebody," Kyle snaps, surprising even himself with the amount of bitterness in his voice. He grabs Eric by the cuff of his sleeve and jerks him away from the fence and back towards the bleachers.

"Oh, uh, okay," Butters says, confused, tossing up a timid wave as they leave.

"What was _that_ all about?" Eric asks, yanking his sleeve back from Kyle's grasp. Kyle pushes past him into the aisle and takes his seat back, picking up his forgotten beverage and taking a sip. Eric sits down next to him but stares at him with squinted eyes.

"Nothing," Kyle says, sharply, pointedly avoiding eye contact.

Eric quirks an eyebrow. "Are you maybe... jealous?" he asks, a smug grin forming on his face.

Kyle scoffs loudly. "No!" he yelps but then pauses for a moment as hot blush brightens his cheeks. "I just... I just hate Butters."

"You do not," Eric says, emphatically. "You were just saying what a cool dude he was last week! You're _jealous_ because Butters wants me to _call_ him! Maybe I will if you're gonna be a little bitch about it."

"Oh, _please,_ Cartman," Kyle sneers. "You treat him terribly. He only likes you because you're tall and you have a big dick." Kyle groans and rolls his eyes when he realizes what he's just said. "Oh, _here_ we go."

Eric looks at him with the biggest, self-satisfied smile. " Well well _well,_ Kyle! I see what you're all about!"

Kyle pulls the flaps of his hat down further over his ears. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

"Really, though. I'm not surprised. Considering how _badly_ you wanted me that you-"

"Alright, I've had enough," Kyle says, rising to his feet.

"Wait," says Eric, grabbing him by the bottom of his hoodie and pulling him back down into his seat. "Christ, I'm just fucking with you. I'm not gonna call Butters so don't get your little Jew panties into a twist."

"I _know_ that," Kyle huffs, crossing his arms. "I just hate that it bothers me so much and you're so fucking _obnoxious_ about it."

"Damn, sorry," Eric says. "I would have told him I wasn't single if I knew that. You never told me you wanted to like... be boyfriends or whatever."

"I don't know what I want," Kyle admits.

"I've noticed," Eric says and Kyle glances over at him, trying to decipher something from the look on his face. He bites his lip hard and casts his eyes downward, staring at his Styrofoam cup as it sweats a puddle into the cup holder.

"What do you want?" Kyle asks, finally, after a long silence.

"I-" Eric starts but stops. He sighs. "More than this, I guess," he says. He means it. But, at the same time, he doesn't want things to change too much. He still wants them to be able to rip on each other and he knows for a fact that Kyle loves to argue with him. He doesn't want to lose that.

"Hm," says Kyle, still not meeting his eyes. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, just so you don't call Butters or anything," Kyle grumbles. "But we can... I don't know. Some PDA is okay, I guess. We already live together so, I mean, I don't know what else there is there."

Eric laughs. "I'm not gonna call Butters, you moron!" he says, slinging his arm around the back of Kyle's chair once again, only, this time, he's touching his shoulders.

"If you say so," Kyle says, leaning back against his arm.

"So does this mean you'll suck my dick again sometime?"

Kyle glances at him, tiredly, out of the corner of his eye. "I suppose so."

"Sweet."

Eric sets his nachos precariously in his lap. He doesn't want to move the arm he's got around Kyle's shoulders. He doesn't want to spook him out of his PDA permission with any sudden movements. However, on an attempt to move a chip from the plastic container to his mouth, he accidentally knocks the whole thing onto the ground. "My nachos!" he yelps. "Fuck my entire life!" He throws his head back and groans up at the sunset sky.

Kyle rolls his eyes and then turns his attention back to the pretty much forgotten football game. He watches the number four player trot across the field and some lost memory springs from his brain as he recalls that the number four jersey used to belong to Stan.

Everyone had assumed that Stan would be a big football star but, right now at least, he had become pretty emo. Stan was good in high school, surprisingly. He had been pretty forlorn in middle school (which is pretty much how everyone is in middle school) but in later grades he had transformed into a sort of friendly jock character.

He only lasted a semester on the football team in college, though, before quitting. He had claimed it was negatively impacting his studies but Stan had never really cared about his grades anyhow.

Now, he spends his spare time writing sad poetry and walking dogs at the animal shelter and stuff. It's pretty depressing. Sometimes he starts drinking again and he has a tough time stopping when he's by himself.

Kyle gets a pang of guilt in his chest and shifts against Eric's arm. Eric can immediately tell that something is on his mind. They're kind of telepathically linked or something.

"What?"

"Nothing," says Kyle. He pauses, pretending he doesn't see Eric's scrutinizing gaze silently prompting him to continue. "Well, I was just thinking about Stan."

Eric furrows his brow. "And here I was thinking you were having a good time here with me when, in reality, you're thinking about fuckin' Marsh. Weak."

"Shut up," says Kyle, jabbing him lightly in the ribs with his elbow. "I'm just worried about him. He's so goddamn emotional these days, I'm kinda afraid he's going to, like, cut himself or something because of his thing with Wendy."

"Darsh wouldn't do that," says Eric. He's a little uneasy with the concept of self mutilation himself. He had done it a lot in high school and even as recently as the previous spring semester but he didn't think any of his friends were aware of that. He played off the scars as stretch marks and reminders from when he was in a pretty bad car accident in their senior year of high school. And the words he had carved into his flesh had mostly faded away aside from the faintest etchings of the words "FAT ASS" on his inner thigh that he tried his best to keep hidden. "Stan's a freak but he's not gonna kill himself or anything."

"Hm," Kyle says. "Okay. We should still go check up on him after the game."

"We?"

"Well, we're almost boyfriends or whatever. You're gonna have to start doing shit with me."

"Ugh," Eric groans, tossing his head back, dramatically. "Laaaaame." He glances at Kyle who is staring daggers with his piercing green eyes. "Okay, fiiiine! We'll go do a fucking mental health wellness check on your other boyfriend after this."

Kyle purses his lips but doesn't pursue it further. Instead, he just watches the game, warm against Eric's arm.


	5. Stan The Man

Stan is fine, really. Never been better. Happily single.

At least, that's what he's telling himself as he jogs along a park trail with a gaggle of assorted dogs on leashes. The trees are already turning a toasty shade of orange and the golden glow of sunset dances across the ground as it passes through the foliage overhead.

Stan doesn't need a girlfriend. He has dogs.

He's got a yellow lab named Tootsie, a scruffy brown mutt named Jack, a collie mix named Desmond, a retired racing greyhound named Gizmo, and a west highland white terrier named Sally Field. That's all he really needs, right? He thinks this to himself as he slows to let Sally Field The Dog take a dump on the sidewalk. He cleans it up with a plastic baggie and tosses it in the nearest trash can. Things _cannot_ get any better than this. This is what a high functioning adult looks like. This is _peak performance._ Wendy Testaburger eat your heart out.

He flinches when he thinks her name. He really doesn't think anything bad of her. Wendy is his soulmate. The love of his life. She's the most incredible person Stan has ever met and it's been just over a week since he's spoken to her and misses her so much he can't breathe.

Actually, he can't breathe very well in general right now. He stops again and takes his inhaler out of his jacket pocket. He takes a long puff, holding the vapor in his lungs for a moment, and then exhales it with his cloudy breath, into the autumn air. Gotta love adult onset asthma.

He jogs on with his canine companions for another quarter mile or so before stopping at a small pond so the dogs can have a drink before they head back to the animal shelter. He takes a quick sip from the water fountain before standing back and admiring the scenery. The sunlight is beautiful and illuminates the ripples on the water. The sky is turning bright pink and the clouds are a smoky violet. The sun is a dazzling shade of red. Oh fuck yeah, thinks Stan. He's going to write hella poems about this shit later.

He breathes out, loudly, hands on his hips. The air smells musky and sweet like a leaf pile. It's the smell of detritus and dying plants. Bittersweet, really. Stan makes a mental note of this.

He kneels down with the dogs, giving them all their fair share of pats. Tootsie licks his face and slobbers on him and he laughs, ruffling her fur and then standing up again, and starts the mile and a half jog back to the shelter.

When he gets back, he begins the task of taking the dogs back to their pens. He always feels sad doing this. He wishes he could take them all home with him. If he didn't live in a dorm room he probably would take at least one home with him. Probably Tootsie or Gizmo, if it came down to it. He misses having a dog. He also misses having a girlfriend. If he had a dog and a girlfriend his life would be markedly better.

He feeds the dogs and stops by the cat room to give a few scritches and give some treats. The cats aren't his responsibility and he's not really a cat person but he always wants them to feel well loved anyhow.

He looks out the window. It's dark now. The sky is alive with stars and the moon is almost full and rising above the mountains in the distance. He's refilling water dishes for the cats when he hears the bell at the front door ding. It's pretty late for potential adoptions as the shelter closes in fifteen minutes so he peeks out the door.

It's just Kyle and Eric. Kyle is talking to Donna at the front desk while Eric absently thumbs through adoption pamphlets.

"Oh, hey guys," Stan says, popping his head out of the cat room door.

"Stan the Man," Eric announces.

"Hey dude," says Kyle.

A black and white cat tries to push past Stan's legs and out of the room so he pushes it back, gently, with his foot and steps out, shutting the door behind him. "What's up?"

"Well, you guys go ahead and have your gay little talk," Eric says, heading into the cat room. "I need to pet some cats."

Kyle watches him close the door and immediately sit down on the floor. He looks back to Stan. "I figured we'd come and check on you."

Stan shrugs. "I'm fine. Really."

Kyle looks like he doesn't believe him. "You're sure?"

Stan nods. "Yeah."

Kyle narrows his eyes. "Okay... Because, if you weren't, you'd tell me, right?"

"Right," Stan says slowly. His hesitation basically confirms Kyle's suspicions.

"Do you wanna hang out tonight? You can sleep at our dorm," Kyle suggests. He knows how much Stan hates being alone.

"I don't know," says Stan. "I have a biology test on Monday and I might just spend the weekend studying."

"Bullshit," says Kyle.

"It's not bullshit!"

"I know you, Stan. You're gonna be writing your sad poetry and then you're gonna start listening to Mayday Parade again and you know how you get when you listen to fucking _Mayday Parade,_ " Kyle says.

"I'm not gonna get drunk, if that's what you're worried about. I don't even have any alcohol in my room."

"I never said that," says Kyle. He _was_ thinking it, though.

"Really, though," says Stan, "I'll be okay." He leans against the wall with his shoulder and pushes back his coal black hair. "But, I mean, if you wanna hang out after I get done here, I guess we could find something to do."

"Yeah, it'll be cool. We can get food and hang out somewhere. Maybe watch something on Netflix. And, if you wanna drink, we can get a couple cases of beer."

Stan weighs it over. He knows Kyle won't let him spiral back into alcoholic behaviors and he really feels like he needs to get a little buzzed after the week he's had. "Okay. I'm in. I've just gotta lock up here."

"Do you wanna ride with us? I didn't see your car in the parking lot."

"Yeah, I rode my bike today."

"Okay, we can put it in the trunk."

"Cool," says Stan.

Kyle pushes his glasses up on his nose and shifts his weight on his feet, crossing his arms. He glances at Eric through the tall, rectangular window in the door. He's laying flat on his back and he's got at least six different cats on him. He has such a look of glee on his face as he kisses a long haired calico on the nose that Kyle has to smirk.

Stan catches him and cocks an eyebrow. "How are things with you?"

"Huh?" Kyle says, taken a little off guard. "Me? They're... They're good."

"Yeah?" Stan prompts.

Kyle nods and exhales a faint chuckle. "Yeah. Weirdly good."

"That's good, then," Stan says, genuinely. He pauses. "Do you know if Cartman's talked to Wendy lately?" He hates himself for asking. As soon as her name floats off his lips his heart aches.

Kyle scrunches up his eyebrows. "I honestly don't know. You could ask him."

"Okay," says Stan. He also looks through the door at Eric and laughs. "I think he lives here now."

"Yeah, he's really living his best life in there." Kyle raps on the window with his knuckles and Eric flips him off without looking up from the cat he's currently snuggling. Kyle opens the door a crack. "Are you done?"

"If you need something, you'll have to come in here with me and my children," says Eric.

"I've gotta finish filling water dishes in there anyhow," says Stan, holding the door open enough for Kyle to slip in after him.

"Kyle," says Eric, "you know what we need?"

"We're not getting a cat," Kyle responds. If they lived in an animal-friendly apartment he'd probably humor him but he's not about to get kicked out of college for illegally housing a cat in his dorm room.

"But Kyyyyle," Eric whines, holding up a velvety gray shorthair, "she looks just like Mr. Kitty."

The cat really does have a striking resemblance to Eric's beloved late cat. He had been absolutely devastated when she had to be put down at age thirteen. He completely shut down and didn't speak to anyone for days. Weeks, even. In the end, it had been Kenny who had brought him back down to earth and helped him through it. Kyle has never been sure how he did it and he never asked.

"No," Kyle says, firmly. "You're not smuggling cats away again."

Eric groans and sits up, letting the cat go. "Boo, you whore."

"Anyhow, we're hanging out tonight," says Kyle, leaning against a counter. "Any opinions about where to get food?" He regrets asking. He knows that Eric often has _too_ many opinions on food. However, he must be distracted by the cats because he just gives a noncommittal shrug.

"Chinese?" Stan suggests, meekly.

"Fuck yeah, I'd kill for some goddamn dumplings. We should order from that place by the mall," Eric says. _There's_ the food opinion.

Kyle nods. "Yeah, okay. Works for me." He takes his phone out of his pocket and looks up the restaurant's menu and phone number on Google. "I'll call and order now so we can go straight there after," he says. "What do you guys want?"

They discuss what they want to eat for a good ten minutes as Stan scoops litter boxes. In the end, Kyle decides on classic orange chicken and vegetable spring rolls, Stan gets shrimp lo mein and hot and sour soup, and Eric orders half the menu. "For the leftovers," he claims.

Stan locks up the shelter and says goodbye to the animals and Eric gives a kiss to each of the cats before they leave. They load Stan's blue mountain bike into the trunk of Kyle's car and head out.

Half an hour later, they're all sitting on the floor of Eric and Kyle's dorm, eating.

"Look at this fucking dweeb who can't use chopsticks," Eric jeers at Kyle.

"I know how to use chopsticks," Kyle snaps, indignantly. "They didn't give me any!" For emphasis, he rifles through the paper bag sitting next to him. Sure enough, there's no sign of any chopsticks but a good four or five individually wrapped plastic forks.

"Excuses, excuses," says Eric, pinching a pork dumpling between his chopsticks and dunks it messily in some dark brown sauce.

"Oh, fuck off," says Kyle.

Stan noisily slurps a noodle and thinks for a minute before speaking. "So, Cartman, have you talked to Wendy lately?"

"Yeah," says Eric, slowly. "We got lunch after class yesterday."

"How is she? Is she doing okay?"

"Uh, yeah, she's fine, I guess."

"Oh, okay. Good," says Stan, looking down at his noodles. He's quiet for a little while.

"Listen, dude," says Eric, "I think you should just text her or something."

"Do you think that's what she wants me to do?" Stan asks. "I figured I'd give her space."

Eric shrugs. "I dunno, man." He's a little uncomfortable being a go-between but, at the same time, he wants both of these idiots to get back together. He's always found himself to be a pretty hardcore shipper when it comes to his friends being in relationships. "I'll talk to her for you, I guess. But you owe me."

Stan exhales. "Thanks, Cartman."

"Yeah, yeah," Eric says. He glances over at Kyle who is looking at him with scrutiny. "What are you looking at, Jew?"

"Still trying to figure that out," he says. He stabs a piece of chicken with his stupid plastic fork.

Eric rolls his eyes. "Hey, Stan, did you know that me and Kyle are like... pretty much boyfriends or whatever. Right, Kyle?" Eric gives Kyle an obnoxious smile.

Kyle's cheeks redden. "Something like that," he admits, frowning.

Stan raises his eyebrows. "Really? Hey, that's cool, you guys!" he says. "It's only been like ten years," he adds, jokingly.

"Thanks," Kyle mutters into his fried rice.

"Yeah, Kyle finally returned my affections," Eric says in a mock southern belle voice. He starts to say something else but is cut off when Kyle whips a fortune cookie at his face.

Kyle lets out an effervescent laugh. "Here's your fortune, dumbass," he says.

Eric snorts and unwraps the cookie, snapping it in half and pulling out the thin paper.

"Does it say you're a piece of shit?" Kyle asks.

"Does it say your mom's a skank?" asks Stan.

"Aw, fuck," Eric says, "it says I'm gay." He tosses the two halves of the cookie into the empty paper bag. They don't taste that great. "Nah, it says 'Everything will work out for the best,'" he says, putting up dramatic air quotes. "That's a boring fortune; gimme another one." Kyle overhand tosses one to him and he just barely catches it with one hand. He opens it. "'Trust your friends but keep your eyes open,'" he recites, narrowing his eyes. "Hm. My fortune cookie says you guys are fucking _snakes,"_ he hisses.

Kyle snickers again and unwraps his own. He frowns at the paper. "'The limit does not exist,'" he says.

Eric lets out a loud bark of a laugh. "Is that from fucking _Mean Girls?"_

"That's a hundred percent from Mean Girls," says Stan with a grin. He picks one up from the floor and opens it. "Bro, mine just says 'relationships' and that's it."

Kyle laughs but Eric shrugs.

"It's a sign," Eric says, matter-of-factly.

"A sign for _what?"_ asks Stan. He pops half of his fortune cookie into his mouth like a heathen.

Eric shakes his head. "I don't know, I'm not Chinese. Ask Wendy."

Stan frowns. "She's Korean."

"Whatever, whatever," Eric says with a wave of his hand. "You should still ask her."

Stan looks down. "Maybe."

Kyle leans back on his hands and exhales noisily through his nose. "Lets watch something," he says to break the uncomfortable silence. He grabs the remote off the floor and turns on the TV that's on top of Eric's dresser. He hovers between Netflix and Hulu for a moment before deciding on Netflix.

"Let's watch Tiger King," says Eric.

Kyle groans. "Not fucking Tiger King again. I swear you've watched the whole thing like six times and I've had to watch it second hand. I'll strangle you to death if I have to hear about Carole Baskin killing her husband one more fucking time."

Eric scoffs. "Whore," he says.

Kyle makes a disgruntled noise and tosses the remote to Stan. "You pick something I'm indecisive and Cartman's opinion sucks."

Stan nods and scans the catalog. He moves to the horror movies and Kyle raises his eyebrows.

"You're not usually a horror fan," he observes aloud.

"I know," says Stan, "but I'm feeling like I need something different."

Eric stands up, brushing stray grains of rice off of his lap. "I'm gonna go get a drink, y'all want anything?" he asks.

"Dr. Pepper," Stan and Kyle say, simultaneously.

Eric raises an eyebrow. "Okay, fucking freak twins," he says. "I'll be back in a sec."

"Don't come back," says Kyle.

Eric huffs loudly. "Rude," he says, leaving and shutting the door behind him. He starts down the hall but Kyle suddenly rushes out to meet him.

"Wait."

"What?" Eric asks, turning around.

Kyle abruptly hops up on his toes and kisses him on the lips. Eric stumbles back against the wall, holding onto Kyle by the hips, kissing him back, eagerly. Kyle pulls back quickly, looking up at Eric over the rim of his glasses for a second with a short pant before turning to leave.

"What was that for?" Eric asks, a bit dazed.

"Nothing," says Kyle, glancing back at him over his shoulder. He goes back into the room, leaving Eric alone in the hall.

Eric rubs the back of his neck and sighs. "Wow, okay," he says softly, to himself.

He heads downstairs. There's a line of vending machines in the first floor lounge. It's getting late and the lights are turned down but still on. There are a couple students around, mostly on their laptops with headphones on, scattered around on the many arm chairs and sofas.

Eric fishes his wallet out of his pants pocket and swipes his debit card on the vending machine. He gets two Dr. Peppers and a Pepsi. He doesn't go back upstairs, though. Instead, he goes outside, planting himself down on the bench directly in front of the building. It's cold enough out to see his breath forming clouds in front of his lips and he's just in a t-shirt and jeans but the cold doesn't really bother him.

He takes out his phone and taps one of his contacts, bringing it up to his ear.

 _"Hello?"_ Wendy's lilting soprano voice comes through.

"Okay, so, I have Stan in my dorm room right now," says Eric.

_"Why?"_

"Because Kyle was worried about him drinking bleach or whatever so now we're having a classic cool kid sleepover or something," he explains. "I mean, it's fine. It's fun. But, anyhow, he wants advice and I don't know what to tell him."

 _"Advice about what?"_ she asks. _"Is he okay?"_

"Advice about you, bitch! He's fine, I guess. Well, I mean fine for Marsh is still emo sadboy. He doesn't know if you want space or if you want him to grand gesture you back into his life."

 _"God, Eric, I don't know. I love him and I want him back but I feel like it hasn't been long enough to be a productive break,"_ says Wendy. She sounds unsure of herself as she talks.

"You should fuck Bebe before you get back together with Stan. It's a once in a lifetime chance, I'm telling you," says Eric.

He hears Wendy laugh. _"No! I'm done sleeping with my friends. That was a one time thing!"_

"Aw," Eric chides, "but I thought what we had was _special."_ He cracks a grin. "But, yeah, you probably shouldn't nail your roommate. I learned that lesson the hard way."

_"Oh, shut up. You and Kyle are doing good, though."_

"Yeah, it's pretty sweet actually. But that's why you need to get back with Stan. So he stops coming over to _my_ place and cockblocking me."

Wendy laughs again. _"I'll call him on Monday and see if he wants to get coffee, okay? Happy?"_

"Thank god," Eric says. "Anyhow, I gotta go before Kyle and Stan start having sex with each other."

 _"Okay,"_ says Wendy. _"I'll see you on Wednesday."_

"Wait, what's on Wednesday?"

_"We're studying for Spanish."_

"Oh, we are? Okay, whatever. I'll see you then, I guess."

_"Yeah, bye, Eric."_

"Later."

He hangs up and slips his phone into his back pocket as he stands.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Stan and Kyle have finally decided on a movie. It's that fake ghost hunting insane asylum found footage one. They're waiting for Eric, though, so they haven't started it yet. Stan has moved into Eric's desk chair and Kyle's laying on his bed on his stomach.

"So are you and Cartman an official thing now or what?" Stan asks after a long silence.

Kyle blushes and rolls over onto his side. "I don't know. I didn't wanna put a label on it and make it weird but I guess it feels that way."

"What? It feels weird?"

"No, it feels like I'm... That he's..." he can't seem to make the words come out. "We're... Yeah."

"Well, that's awesome, man! I'm happy for you guys!" says Stan.

"Really? It doesn't make you uncomfortable or anything?" Kyle asks. "I don't want you to feel like a third wheel or anything."

Stan laughs. "If anything, I've always been a third wheel to you guys. When Kenny was around we would always joke about it. And, besides, you've hung out with me and Wendy a hundred times and it never bothered you, did it?"

"No, not really," Kyle says. He has legitimately been in the same room as Stan and Wendy while they were having sex. He just put his headphones on and played games on his phone in the corner. "But you're not gonna puke or anything if we, like, hold hands or something, are you?"

"Dude, you insult me! You act like I've never held hands with a guy before."

"Oh, right," Kyle says. This is true. Stan had briefly dated a boy in high school when he had been on a previous break with Wendy. "What was that kid's name you dated in tenth grade? The Mormon kid."

Stan snorts. "Gary Harrison," he says.

"Did you guys...?" Kyle raises his eyebrow, suggestively.

"Well, I mean, do handjobs count?"

"Yes, handjobs count!"

"Okay, then yes."

Kyle laughs. "Sometimes I forget that you're not totally straight."

"That's okay," says Stan. "I'm mostly straight." He spins around in the chair, slowly, for a few rotations. "I really am glad that you found somebody, though, dude. Cartman too. If Wendy and I get back together we'll have to do like couple's weekends or something like she's always wanted to do."

"Don't say 'if' you get back together. You know you will," says Kyle. "It's only been a week."

Stan shrugs. "I guess. I hope so. I hate the way I feel without her, Kyle. Like, it physically hurts."

Kyle gives him an apologetic look. "I know, man. It sucks." Kyle doesn't have too much experience with breakups but he can imagine. It almost hurts _him_ just seeing Stan look so sad. He tries to envision how he would feel if he couldn't talk to Eric anymore. It makes him a little queasy.

He rolls over onto his back and stares at the ceiling. By this point, Netflix has gone to it's screensaver. "Okay, what the fuck is taking him so long?" he asks aloud, about Eric.

"No fucking clue. It's never good when you lose track of that guy. He needs to be watched like a toddler so he doesn't get into trouble."

Kyle snickers. "That's true. He probably got distracted."

Just then, Eric barges in through the door.

"Speak of the devil," says Stan.

Eric narrows his eyes at him. "Well, excuse _me,"_ he says, tossing his bottle of soda at him. He throws the other Dr. Pepper to Kyle and sits down on his own bed, flopping onto his back. "So what're we watchin'?" he asks.

Stan hits a button the remote so the screen goes back to the title of the movie.

"Oh, cool," Eric says.

They finally press play. Throughout the movie, though, Kyle finds himself watching Eric more than the TV. There's a weird feeling in his chest that he's pretty sure he's never felt before. It's been a really long time since he's been in a relationship but he doesn't remember feeling like this. It's pretty gross. Granted, he's had feelings for Eric for a while now but he's obviously been in denial. So, to really put a name to it and to let himself feel it is a little overwhelming.

Eric falls asleep towards the end of the movie, rolling over to face the wall, and snoring softly. As the credits roll, Stan, who had gravitated back to the floor at some point, stretches and yawns.

"I think I might go upstairs," he says.

"You sure?" Kyle asks, sitting up.

Stan nods. "Yeah, I'm tired and I think I wanna sleep in my bed."

"Want me to come with you?" asks Kyle. "I'll sleep in your roommate's bed. He'll never know."

Stan snorts. "Bryan would kill me if he found out. He's a neat freak germaphobe. If he found one of your little ginger hairs on his pillow he'd have a fucking conniption," he laughs. "I'll be okay sleeping by myself, though, dude. Tonight helped."

Instinctively, Kyle runs his fingers through his hair. "Fuck Bryan," he says. "But, okay."

Stan stands and cracks his back. "Alright, man, I'll talk to you tomorrow." He opens the door and lingers in the doorway for a second.

Kyle gives him a wave, hopping off his bed and heading towards the bathroom. "Okay, g'night."

"Night," Stan says, shutting the door behind him.

After finishing up in the bathroom, Kyle changes into flannel pajama pants and a graphic tee. He takes off his glasses and leaves them on top of his dresser with his wallet and keys. He turns off the lights but pauses before getting into bed. Instead, he crawls into bed with Eric, laying against his back. He slips an arm over him and presses his face to the nape of his neck. Eric's body is warm and soft and his breathing is slow and steady. He smells like cigarette smoke and laundry detergent. Kyle exhales against him.

Eric stirs and rolls over, facing Kyle, who's arms are still wrapped around his middle.

"Marsh go home?" Eric mumbles, sleepily.

"Mmhm," Kyle murmurs into his chest. He's got that weird feeling again. It makes him want to be as close to him as physically possible. It makes him want to breathe him in. He scoots up to kiss him, languidly. Eric hums against his lips.

"Can't get enough of this," Eric says softly and Kyle can't tell which one of them it's directed at.

Eric pulls him closer and Kyle notices he's snoring again. He smirks and closes his eyes and, soon, he's asleep too.

  
  



	6. Vanilla Chai Latte

Wendy doesn't call Stan on Monday like she said she was going to do. She had the phone in hand but chickened out at the last second. It's Friday night again now and she's got the phone in hand. "Two weeks," she thinks. "Two weeks is a good enough amount of time."

Not a lot has happened in the past two weeks aside from the fact that she slept with Eric, of all people. But, they've vowed over coffee to never speak of it again. Not to each other and not to anyone else. Especially not to Kyle or Stan.

Speaking of Eric and Kyle, she's really happy for them. It's been three days since Kyle officially changed relationship status to "In A Relationship" on Facebook and, if you know Kyle A.K.A Mr. Commitment Issues, that's a huge deal.

Kyle and Eric (along with Bebe, of course) are, currently, in the room with Wendy for moral support as she tries to psych herself up to call Stan.

"You can do it!" Bebe cheers from where she's perched on the arm of the sofa. "Call him and go get that dick!"

"Fuckin' well said," says Eric, giving Bebe a nod. He's laying on the floor on his back for some reason.

"It's just Stan," Kyle adds, helpfully, standing against the doorway. "He's probably been waiting by the phone for a week anyhow."

"You don't think things are going to be weird?" asks Wendy. She's not really sure what she's afraid of. It _is_ just Stan. She's more comfortable with him than he is with anyone else in the entire world.

"Hell no," Bebe says. "Things are never weird with you and Stan."

"That's true," Wendy ponders.

"Quit stalling!" Eric barks.

"Okay, damn!" says Wendy, glaring at him.

"Put it on speaker," says Bebe.

"No," Wendy says, "I'm not doing that because I don't trust you guys to shut up."

Bebe laughs. "You can trust me and Kyle, that's for sure! I don't know about _some_ people," she says, with a pointed gaze at Eric.

"Listen," says Eric, "nobody wants Wendy and Stan to get back together more than me, let's be realistic." He's probably right. Eric gets weird about people breaking up when he thinks they should be together.

"Yeah, okay," Wendy says. She takes a deep breath and pushes Stan's contact in her phone. She holds the phone to her ear and waits, tapping her french-tipped nails on the kitchen table, anxiously. Stan picks up on the second ring.

_"Hello? Wendy?"_

"Hi, Stan. How have you been?" She feels like she's sounding a little bit like a robot but chalks it up to nerves.

 _"I'm fine. Are you okay? I'm at the library. Do you wanna talk?"_ Stan responds.

"I'm okay. I was just... Do you wanna get coffee?" She decides to cut right to the chase.

 _"Yeah, totally, of course!"_ Stan says, enthusiastically.

Wendy lets out a long sigh of relief. "Okay, tomorrow at eleven?"

 _"Yeah, that works for me! I can't wait to see you. I miss you so much,"_ Stan begins to ramble and Wendy finds it a little endearing but a little awkward as well.

"I miss you too, I'll see you tomorrow," she says, quietly. "Bye Stan."

Stan says goodbye and she hangs up, laying her phone face down on the table. "Okay, it's a date, you guys."

"Thank _god,"_ Eric exclaims.

Kyle's phone buzzes in his pocket. He looks at it and laughs. "It's Stan. He's probably calling to freak out about how excited he is."

"Go answer your real boyfriend, I'll wait," Eric says, flipping through one of Bebe's fashion magazines.

Kyle nudges his shoulder with the toe of his shoe as he passes him into the hallway. "At least Stan appreciates me for my personality," he says in a fake whiny voice.

"I appreciate you for your personality, Jew!" Eric shouts after him. "Kyle, did you hear me!? I said I appreciate your personality!"

Kyle doesn't answer him but Eric can hear him talking faintly to Stan on the phone in the hall.

Bebe rubs Wendy on the back, between her shoulder blades. "See, was that so bad?"

Wendy exhales. "No, I guess not." She pushes her shiny, raven hair back but then lets it fall over her face. "God, I hope it's not weird."

"It's only gonna be weird if you make it weird," Eric says, popping a stick of peppermint gum into his mouth. He offers some to the girls, still laying on the floor. Bebe takes a piece and Wendy holds her hand out, silently asking for some. Bebe grabs another and gives it to her.

Wendy unwraps it and places it between her teeth. She stares at the silver foil wrapper. "I kind of feel like I'm going to puke," she says.

"That's just nerves," Bebe says. "Don't get yourself so worked up over this! It's just Stan. You and Stan are, like, two halves of the same person."

"Yeah," says Eric. "You guys share one brain cell."

Wendy glares at him. "I have more power in one brain cell than you do in your entire mind," she says. It doesn't make much sense but neither does Eric at any point in his life.

Eric laughs. "Savage. It must be your turn with the brain cell today."

She crumples up the chewing gum wrapper and tosses it at him. It bounces off his forehead and onto his chest and she smirks.

Kyle comes back in at that point and taps Eric with his shoe again. "Hey, we gotta go if we're gonna get there on time," he says.

"Oh, right," Eric says, sitting up and stretching.

"Where are you guys going?" asks Bebe. She turns on the electric kettle to make a cup of tea for Wendy.

"The drive-in," Kyle says, a little sheepishly.

"Yeah, Kyle's taking me on a date," says Eric, sitting down on the arm of the couch. He bats his eyelashes, dramatically at him, grabbing him roughly by the waist.

Kyle tries in vain to shove him off and ends up toppling over the sofa on top of him, laughing. "You fucking asshole,"he shouts, squishing Eric's face between his hands as he wrestles him into a headlock.

"Aw, you guys are so cute," Bebe squeals. She had a thing for Kyle in high school but outgrew that pretty quickly. She loves seeing him and Eric together, though. Everyone in their friend group has been waiting for this to happen for a really long time. "You're like yin and yang or some astrology bullshit," she says, leaning against the counter with crossed arms.

"I know, right?" says Eric, grabbing a very flustered Kyle by the armpits and hauling him to his feet.

Kyle brushes himself off. "Yeah, well, whatever," he huffs, tugging his dark gray fleece jacket over his shoulders. His cheeks are bright red. "Come on, dickhead," he says, kicking Eric in the ankle.

Eric zips up his hoodie and flips his pretty brown hair in a way that makes Kyle irrationally angry and horny at the same time for some reason. "I'm comin', I'm comin'," Eric says. He points a finger at Wendy. "Hey. Have fun on your coffee date." He winks.

"Yeah, good luck," Kyle adds, slipping on his shoes.

"Thanks, guys," says Wendy, propping her head up on her hand. Bebe places a hot cup of peppermint tea with honey down next to her and she gives her an appreciative look as she sits up and stirs it with a small spoon.

Kyle tosses them a short, embarrassed wave as Eric grabs him by the other hand, leading him to the door.

"Later, bitches," Eric says as they leave.

"You know, they really are adorable," Bebe says, pouring herself a cup of tea as well. She adds a couple of heaping spoonfuls of sugar. "Who do you think tops?"

Wendy groans. "Bebe, really?"

"What!? I'm just asking your opinion!" she pauses. "I wanna say Kyle but I know it's probably Cartman. Also, I know we've outgrown the whole yaoi thing but, like, don't you think it would be hot if they-"

"Bebe Elizabeth Stevens!" Wendy yelps. "Stop thinking about our friends having sex!"

"But Wendy!" she whines, slumping down in a chair at the table. "I've gotta get off somehow. Lord knows it's been a thousand years since I've gotten fucked."

"You could have sex with anyone you want," Wendy says. "You're fucking gorgeous and you have amazing tits."

"Aw, Wen!" Bebe cries, genuinely flattered. "Girl, thanks. I don't have time to date, though, and I've decided I'm not doing hookups anymore," she explains.

Wendy shrugs and takes a sip of her tea. It's hot and sweet and settles her stomach a little. "That's fair," she says. She's personally only had one hookup in her life ever and she regrets that immensely. She's never seen Bebe bring anyone home but she feels like she's had her fair share of one night stands throughout her college years.

Everyone from her high school class are seniors now and twenty-two, although, Wendy thinks they all feel a lot older than that. Under normal circumstances, she doesn't think they'd all end up at the same university but they've never had normal circumstances.

Wendy, herself, had planned to go to Harvard. She certainly had the grades for it. She made sure of that. But, unfortunately, events in her hometown had gotten her and all of her friends blacklisted from nearly every college in the country. It was well known that, if you were from South Park, you weren't getting accepted anywhere. To make up for it, however, the town gave retributions in the form of free tuition to an accommodating university in Denver. Sure, there were a few scattered colleges that hadn't blacklisted them, but nobody was really willing to turn down the free ride. It's turned out for the best, though. Everyone is pretty happy here.

The next day, Wendy wakes up early, just as the sun is breaking over the snowy peaked horizon, lighting the sky up with pink and orange. She swings her legs out of bed and sits there for a moment, blinking the sleep from her eyes. She has some kind of feeling in the pit of her stomach. It's kind of butterflies and kind of nausea. She's still tired but knows she won't be able to get back to sleep. It took her long enough to fall asleep the night before. She's not sure what she's so anxious about. She keeps telling herself that it's just Stan. It's just Stan.

She gets up and brushes her teeth and runs a comb through her long hair, fixing it in place with a plastic headband. She does some light makeup, mostly just some translucent powder, light colored eye shadow, and nude lipstick. Then, she changes from her oversized nightshirt to a white sweater under a dark purple pinafore with some white over the knee socks. She takes another minute or two to buff her fingernails and then fastens some small stud earrings in her ears.

She walks down the hall, past Bebe's room. Her door is ajar but, inside, it's dark and motionless. Bebe isn't a morning person. She probably won't be up until after noon since it's Saturday.

In the kitchen, Wendy starts the kettle and pops two pieces of whole wheat bread in the toaster. While the water boils and the bread heats she chooses a box of green tea from the cupboard, putting a teabag in her favorite mug. She takes her birth control with a glass of water at the sink.

When the water is hot enough, she pours her tea and adds some honey and puts a little butter and raspberry jam on her toast and plants herself down at the table. The sun is out now but there are dark blue clouds to the west and it looks like it might rain later in the day. She eats her toast and drinks her tea and sits at the table for a very long time, thinking.

She thinks of what she's going to say to Stan. She knows there's guilt in her heart. She's not sure how she can look Stan in the eyes, knowing she slept with one of his best friends. She knows that Eric's been able to fair just fine around Stan but, then again, that's Eric and he doesn't have the same kind of morals, if any.

She frowns. That's not fair of her to think. Eric's kind of developed a conscience in his adulthood. He's a decent guy now and she'd hate to fuck up his friendship with Stan, especially since it could ruin things with him and Kyle.

There's a lot of reasons she shouldn't tell Stan and she knows she doesn't _have_ to since they _were_ technically broken up. But still. It doesn't stop her from feeling guilty.

She's still sitting at the table when Bebe shuffles out into the kitchen in her satin pajamas and fuzzy slippers. Her hair is wild and frizzy and she has a sleep mask pushed up on her forehead. She yawns loudly and shambles to the Keurig coffeemaker, popping in a coffee pod and sticking her favorite mug under the spout. "'Mornin'," she mumbles.

"You're up early," Wendy observes, sipping her tea.

"I have a club meeting," Bebe says. "Otherwise, I'd never be up at this hour." She looks at Wendy. "I mean, aside from supporting you before your coffee date, obviously!" she says with a cheesy grin.

Wendy chuckles. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure that's the first thing on your mind when you wake up in the morning."

Bebe opens the fridge and gets some hazelnut creamer, pouring an obscene amount into her coffee. "How are you feeling about that? Are you hype?"

"I mean, I guess so," says Wendy. She exhales loudly. Her stomach still feels sick.

"You okay?" Bebe asks, sitting down next to her.

Wendy decides that she can tell Bebe what she's worried about. She won't go into details but she feels like she can trust her best friend, of all people. She sighs. "I slept with somebody, Bebe," Wendy says, softly.

Bebe looks shocked and stammers for a moment. "Wendy! No fucking way! Who!?"

Wendy shakes her head. "I promised I wouldn't say anything," she says. "You understand, right?"

"Totally," says Bebe. "Is that why you're afraid to meet up with Stan, though?"

"I'm not _afraid_ to see him," says Wendy. "I just feel like a whore about it, or something."

"You are absolutely _not_ a whore," Bebe says. "You guys were broken up. You're allowed to do anything or anyone you damn well please! There is absolutely no reason Stan Marsh should own your entire pussy. Was it good, though?"

Wendy has to laugh. "Thanks, Bebe," she says. "It was... okay. I really don't want to tell him but I'm worried he'll find out somehow and hate me."

"That's not going to happen. Plus, I don't think he'd even find out in the first place."

Wendy lets out a breath. "Okay." She looks at the clock. It's a quarter past ten. "Shit, I've gotta get going. Knowing Stan, he'll get there early so then _I_ have to be earlier."

Bebe snorts. "Okay. I'll see you tonight and you can tell me about it, 'kay?"

Wendy nods. "Yeah, of course." She stands, rinsing her cup out in the sink and throwing the teabag in the trash. She slips on some cute, black flats and pins a black beret to her hair. She puts on her short pea coat and throws her purse over her shoulder. She gives Bebe a final wave on her way out the door. "See you later."

"Good luck," says Bebe.

Wendy decides to walk to the coffee shop. It's not far and she feels like the fresh air will do her good. It's chilly but not too cold but Wendy still walks briskly there. She's not that surprised when Stan is there even earlier than her.

She sees him before he sees her. He's sitting outside, at one of the cafe tables. He's got on a brown leather jacket over a navy t-shirt and distressed jeans. His jet black hair is styled in the front but the back is hidden under a beanie and he looks nervous. Butterflies erupt in Wendy's stomach when she sees him.

"Hey," Wendy says as she approaches.

Stan jerks his head up. "Hey! Hi!" he says, jumping to his feet. He hesitates for a moment like he's not sure what to do but Wendy steps in for a hug and he throws his arms around her.

Wendy sighs into his chest. "Oh, Stan," she says. "How have you been? Have you been okay?"

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Stan says. "I just missed you."

"I missed you too," Wendy says, easing up on the hug. She looks up at him and has the intense urge to kiss him but she doesn't. Not yet.

"Come on," says Stan, "I'll buy you coffee."

They go inside. It's moderately busy but there's no line. The lighting is pleasantly dim and golden and it smells like roasted espresso. Wendy looks up at the menu board as Stan orders a large mocha. Usually she loves coffee but she's feeling pretty high strung and the smell isn't doing her nervous stomach any favors today. She orders a vanilla chai latte instead of her regular caramel macchiato.

They sit down at a small table in the corner. There are people around but it's still pretty peaceful and quiet.

Neither of them say anything for a few minutes. Wendy tries her best to think of something casual to say but she's drawing a blank. Stan speaks, finally.

"Wendy, I love you."

"I know," says Wendy. "I love you too."

Stan stares down at his coffee. From the look in his eyes, Wendy's afraid that he might start crying.

"I hope that you've been happy," he says. "I really do. I hope you've been doing everything you couldn't with me."

She pales a little and swallows, thickly. "Mostly I've just been regretting deciding to take a break in the first place."

Stan perks up a little. "Really?"

"Yeah. We're..." She pauses, not quite sure what she wants to say. She decides to paraphrase what Bebe had said to her the night before. "We're two halves of the same whole," she says. "We're better together."

"I think so, too," says Stan. "Everything reminds me of you. You're my person."

"That's a Grey's Anatomy reference," Wendy says, with a smirk. They had binge watched every season of that show over last summer. Wendy had identified strongly with Meredith and Stan had cried when any major character had died. How To Save A Life by The Fray had been both of their ringtones for each other for months.

"Yeah, and I've got a hundred more where that came from," Stan says, raising his eyebrows.

Wendy smiles and drinks her latte. It's spicy and a little too sweet but it warms her from the inside out.

They talk for a while about nothing in particular and then it's lunchtime so they go down the street to the deli and get sandwiches and by the time they finish eating it's started to rain and Wendy doesn't want to get wet on her walk home so Stan offers to drive her. When he pulls up in front of her apartment building, she doesn't get out right away.

"I had a good time today," she says.

"Me too," says Stan.

She unbuckles her seat belt and looks over at him. He looks so cute with his strategically messy hair and clear blue eyes that she kind of loses herself. She leans over and kisses him fiercely. Stan inhales sharply and kisses her back, bringing his hand up the nape of her neck and tangling in her silky hair. She's not sure how it happens but, after a moment, his seat is pushed back and she's sitting in his lap.

He kisses down her jaw and neck and runs his hand up her thigh to the seam of her underwear. She gasps softly.

"Stan," she hisses. "It's the middle of the day and we're in a parking lot!"

"Right, sorry," says Stan, rocketing his hands up to her waist instead.

She laughs. "Do you wanna come inside?"

"Uh, yeah," says Stan. "Is that okay? Or, like, is there some kind of legal time limit before I'm allowed to go up to your apartment?"

Wendy rolls her eyes and climbs out the driver's side door, smoothing down her skirt. "I'm pretty sure it's okay."

"Okay," says Stan, getting out and following Wendy inside.

The apartment is empty so Bebe must still be at her meeting. They lose their coats and shoes and hats at the door and Wendy takes Stan right back to her bedroom. He's been there hundreds of times but it feels a little bit audacious this time since they aren't officially back together yet. She shuts the door and then Stan is spinning her around to kiss her again, stooping down a bit to her height since he's much taller than her.

She slides her hands up under his shirt, silently urging him to take it off, which he does. Though he's not athletic anymore, he's still fit and his stomach is flat and taut.

She slips the straps of her pinafore over her shoulders and drops it to the floor, now only in her sweater, high socks, and panties. He sits down on the bed, bringing her with him, straddling his lap. Her hands are in his hair and his in hers as they try to commit to memory the feeling of each other's lips.

Stan pushes her shirt up over her head and stares desirously at her perky breasts. She blushes. "It's not nice to stare," she says in a low voice.

"S-sorry," says Stan. "You're just really hot. Are your boobs bigger?"

"Of course they're not," Wendy says. "You just haven't seen them in a while." Before their breakup, they hadn't been intimate in almost two months. Now, she wants to take it slow but she's quickly soaking her underwear.

Stan squeezes her tits tenderly and she lets out a small mewling gasp.

"Christ," says Stan, sucking on her neck. He's really fucking hard right now and Wendy can definitely feel it through his jeans. She quickly works his fly, unzipping his pants and stroking his cock, delicately, through his boxers.

"What do you want to do?" Stan asks, breathlessly, against her lips. "I wanna be inside you."

Wendy whimpers, softly. "I don't know. Is it too soon?"

"It's up to you," Stan says. "I won't do anything you're not comfortable with."

Wendy makes a small, frustrated sound. "No sex. Not yet." She thinks, glancing hungrily down at the small, wet spot of precum on Stan's underwear. She really wants to make him cum. "But, shit, let's still do something."

"Like what?" Stan asks. His hands move hesitantly down her side, kissing along her collarbone, looking up at her with his big blue eyes.

"Hm. Let's try this," she says, sliding back, planting her feet on the floor and slipping out of her panties. Stan can't seem to tear his eyes away from her body as she pushes him back on the bed and pulls his boxers down over his cock and straddles him. Her labia is smooth and clean shaven and she rubs against him, using her own slickness as lubrication, sliding up and down against his length.

Stan can't contain a loud moan as she grinds her clit against the head of his dick. Wendy's always been quick to finish and Stan is so pent up that he knows he's not going to last very long as she speeds up her pace, scraping her fingernails against his firm chest.

When Wendy climaxes, she scrunches up her face and lets out a long, high pitched whine. Stan can feel her quivering against his shaft and it sends him over the edge. He grips her by the waist and thrust his hips upwards, against her slippery skin. "Oh, fuck," he groans, tossing his head back and cumming in spurts onto his stomach and chest.

Wendy rocks back and forth slowly for a minute more, riding out her orgasm as Stan twitches and pants beneath her. Eventually, she rolls off of him and lays down on her bed.

"That was a good substitution for sex," Stan says, reaching over for some tissues to clean the cum off his body. He pulls his pants and boxers back up. He takes his inhaler out of his pocket and takes a quick hit off of it.

"Yeah," says Wendy, rolling over to face him. "It was nice." She kisses him gently, brushing the hair out of his eyes.

Stan sits up and reaches over the edge of the bed, finding his shirt and slipping it back on. "So," he says, "do you wanna watch a movie or anything?"

Wendy hesitates. "Ah, I don't know. Maybe not today." She doesn't want to kick him out, she really doesn't. But this coffee date to talk about their relationship has already gone way further than she had anticipated or intended.

Stan nods. "Okay, I get it. That's okay. I'll call you?"

She lets out a small sigh of relief because he understands. She sits up and watches him as he fixes his pants. "I'd like that."

He leans down and kisses her deeply once more. "I love you," he says, kissing her forehead.

"I love you too," Wendy says, looking up at him from behind long, dark eyelashes.

He goes to leave but turns back toward her in the doorway. "I'll see you later, okay?" he says and Wendy nods.

After he leaves, Wendy sits alone in her bedroom, half naked, thinking. She thinks about life and Stan and love and sex and oh my god she had sex with _Eric_ in the same bed that she just dry humped Stan on. She's really going to have to get over that. Whatever, she's changed the sheets since then.

She decides to do laundry now, though, to give herself some time to think while still feeling productive. She pulls the sheets and bedding off the bed and pulls off the pillow cases, throwing them all in a laundry basket along with the clothes she had been wearing.

She changes into clean underwear, stretchy jeans, and a comfortable t-shirt and heads for the laundry room.

She tells herself that things are normal and okay. She believes it.

  
  



	7. Anyway, Here's Wonderwall

"Is three times in one day too much?" Kyle asks a week and a half later. It's a Wednesday and he's got his feet up on the bench in front of McDonald's, drinking a hot chocolate. He's in a dark orange fleece and brown pants. It's finally October and the leaves are golden brown and hang precariously on the trees, falling to the ground in crunchy piles.

Bebe looks up from her psychology textbook while she sits in the grass beside the sidewalk. "Too much of what? Sex?" She smirks with her deep red lips. She picks up her pumpkin spice latte and takes a sip.

"Well, says Kyle, "not like, _sex_ sex but, ya know, sex adjacent stuff." He pushes his glasses up on his sharp, angular nose. He doesn't usually hang out with Bebe by herself but they're studying for midterms and she's the only person he knows that will listen to him talk about his sex life with Eric. They're pretty close friends these days, though. Bebe calls them the Curly Hair Pair.

"So, like, blowjobs and handjobs and stuff?"

"Essentially."

"Nah, I don't think so," Bebe says. A sudden gust of wind whips her kinky blonde hair in her eyes and she retaliates by tying it up in a high ponytail. "Have you guys actually fucked, though? Like, dick in ass, balls deep fucked?"

Kyle's ears turn red and he blames it on the chill. "Well... No." He's a little embarrassed about this. He's absolutely not a virgin and, even if he was, it's not something he would be ashamed of. It's his reasoning that leaves a little to be desired. "It's complicated."

"It's not _that_ complicated," Bebe snorts. "You live together and you're jerking each other off three times a day. Why are you not banging him? Or why is _he_ not banging _you?"_ She's assuming Eric is a top. She's actually thought about it a lot and has come to the conclusion that either of them _could_ top but Kyle doesn't seem confident enough to do so.

"Eh," says Kyle, "I don't want to be the one to initiate it."

"Pussy," says Bebe.

Kyle glares at her. "Is it that bad that I want _him_ to want _me?"_ asks Kyle.

"But what if he's thinking the same thing, you know?"

"But _I'm_ the one who's letting him fuck me in the ass. The least he could do is ask. Honestly, damn," Kyle says, shaking his head. He looks at his phone. "I mean, he'll text me all kinds of stuff about it but then he doesn't deliver."

Bebe snatches his phone from his hands. "Ooh! Lemme see."

Kyle scrambles to get it back. "What!? No! Give me that!" he screeches.

Bebe leans away from him and holds the phone just out of his reach, scrolling through his messages. She laughs. "Oh my _god,_ Kyle! Hello?!" she exclaims, coming face to face with the indecent pictures and messages Eric and Kyle have sent back and forth. "Look at all your little dick pics!" She takes a long look. "Not that your dick is little." Her eyes widen. _"Oh,_ okay. Okay. That's what Cartman's dick looks like, huh? I get it now."

Kyle shrieks and jumps up to grab his phone back but Bebe also stands and she's a couple of inches taller than him _and_ she's in heeled boots. She should have used her height to be a model but, instead, she's using it to keep Kyle away from his phone. Eh, it works either way.

"'I wanna bend your little jew ass over and-'" she starts, attempting to imitate Eric's deep voice, but cuts herself off with a bubbly, resounding laugh as she reads the lascivious things Eric has said to him. "Holy shit, Kyle, this is actually pretty hot, TBH."

"Quit reading that!" Kyle yelps, almost knocking both of their drinks over with his desperate and frantic grabbing.

"Damn, son, you a freak," she says, giving the messages one last scroll, reading Kyle's raunchy reply, before handing a very flustered Kyle his phone back. She takes a long, purposeful sip of her coffee, giving him a raised eyebrow stare.

Kyle huffs and shoves his phone in his jacket pocket. His face is bright red and he frowns. "Unbelievable," he says. He feels like no matter who he's hanging out with, he gets harassed. He figures he's just a particularly harassable person.

"Don't be mad," says Bebe, doing absolutely nothing to make Kyle any less mad. She reopens her textbook and takes her small, mustard yellow Moleskine notebook out of her floral print backpack. "Come on, quiz me with the flashcards."

Kyle purses his lips but gets his card stock flashcards out of his messenger bag anyhow. He shuffles through them, selecting one to start with. He's about to start but Bebe hold's her finger up to stop him.

"Hold on a sec, Wendy's calling me," says Bebe. She holds her phone up to her ear. "Hey girl."

 _"Hey, when are you going to be home?"_ Wendy asks.

"Uh, I'm not sure. I'm studying with Kyle. I can come home if you need something, though," says Bebe.

_"Oh, don't worry about it. I was just going to ask you if you could pick up some ginger ale from the gas station on your way back."_

Bebe looks concerned. "Are you sick or something?"

 _"I think so. I'm pretty sure I got food poisoning from that sketchy grocery store sushi we had for lunch yesterday,"_ says Wendy. _"I'll call Stan, though. I don't think he's at the animal shelter today."_

"Okay, if you're sure," says Bebe. "If you need me, though, just call."

 _"I will,"_ says Wendy. _"Thanks."_ She hangs up.

"Wendy's sick?" Kyle asks, having overheard some of the conversation.

Bebe nods. "Yeah, I guess so. She's calling Stan to get her some ginger ale." She thinks. "She says she's got food poisoning because we ate some shitty, prepackaged sushi from the grocery store yesterday. I dunno, though, cuz I feel fine."

"Weird. Maybe you just have a higher constitution," says Kyle. "I haven't talked to Stan in a couple of days since I've been busy with school stuff. How are things going with him and Wendy?"

"I _think_ they're back together," says Bebe, "but I'm not completely sure."

Back at the apartment, Wendy isn't completely sure if she and Stan are back together, either, but she's called him over anyhow. He shows up to the door within twenty minutes with a bottle of ginger ale, his acoustic guitar, and a bouquet of pink roses.

Wendy lets him in. She's a little embarrassed to answer the door in an oversized t-shirt and no pants but she feels like hot garbage and Stan's seen her in worse. She really wouldn't have called him, though, if she didn't feel so downright miserable. She's puked twice this morning already and she really doesn't want to have a third episode.

"Are you okay?" Stan asks, closing the door behind him. He gives her the flowers and places the soda down on the counter.

"I've been better," she says. She sniffs the flowers. They're particularly fragrant and it's one of the first scents she's smelled today that hasn't turned her stomach. "Thank you for the flowers." She gets a vase from under the kitchen sink and fills it with water, dipping the stems in and setting them on the table. When she turns around, Stan is handing her a tumbler of ginger ale with ice and a saucer with three or four saltine crackers.

"Thank you," she says again, shambling to the couch. She sips and it's fizzy and sweet. Her stomach accepts it, thankfully. She looks at Stan. "You brought your guitar," she observes.

Stan takes his guitar case off of his shoulder and unzips it, taking out the instrument and slinging the strap around himself. "Just in case you wanted to hear a song."

Wendy reclines on the couch. "Play me something, guitar boy," she says in a faux seductive voice. It's funny because she looks like shit.

"Right," says Stan, positioning himself on the arm of the easy chair. "Anyway, here's Wonderwall."

Wendy immediately laughs as Stan strums the first chord of the song.

"It's a classic, it's a classic," Stan says, grinning and beginning to sing.

She nibbles on a cracker as she listens to him play and, surprisingly, by the end of the song, her stomach is feeling a lot better. She scoots over on the sofa so he can sit down next to her.

"Sorry I look gross," she says, sheepishly.

Stan puts his arm around her. "You don't look gross. You can throw up in front of me if you need to. You've seen me puke a hundred more times than I've seen you puke."

Wendy rolls her eyes and snuggles up under his arm. "How romantic." She puts Spotify on the TV and plays her favorite playlist. She and Stan have always spent hours and hours listening to music. It's one of their favorite things to do together.

They sit there for a long time, just listening to music, while Wendy thinks. She can't think about much, right now, though. The only thing that's really on her mind is how much she loves Stan. He's a really great guy and she doesn't want anyone but him. And, if the way he showed up with flowers and sang her a song because she wasn't feeling well really hits hard for her. She's made up her mind.

"You know," she says, finally, "if you wanted to be my boyfriend again, like, officially, I think I'd like that."

Stan tries not to let on to how thrilled he is at the suggestion. "I'd like that too. I mean, I'd really like it. A lot." He's rambling.

Wendy chuckles. "Well, it's settled, then."

"Mmhm," Stan says, tightening his arm around her. He leans down to kiss her but she pulls back, quickly.

"Hold on, hold on!" She jumps to her feet. "Let me brush my teeth first!" She bolts down the hall, to the bathroom. She hastily brushes her teeth and rinses her mouth with mouthwash. She frowns at herself in the mirror and hurriedly runs a paddle brush through her hair until it looks smooth and generally free from tangles. She runs back to the living room and throws herself back down on the couch, next to Stan. "Okay, now you can kiss me."

He laughs and kisses her. It's hot and affectionate and Wendy finds herself leaning into it, deeply. She slings an arm around his neck and pulls him in closer to her and he lets out a surprised sound against her lips.

She leans away for a second. "So, uh," she says, looking away, shyly, "now that we're officially dating... that means we can finally have sex again..."

Stan goes wide-eyed. "Are you sure? I thought you were feeling sick? I don't want to, like, jostle you around."

"I feel better now," says Wendy. "I think I can handle a _little_ bit of jostling."

"Ah," says Stan, smirking, "so Wonderwall _did_ help."

Wendy rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

Quickly, Stan shifts himself onto the floor, spreading Wendy's legs apart while she's sitting on the couch. "Maybe this'll help too."

Wendy's cheeks turn pink. "M-maybe." She scoots down so her ass is basically hanging off the sofa at this point.

Stan kisses the inside of her thigh, inching closer to her privates. Luckily for him (and her) she's not wearing pants and he's able to kiss her directly on her clit, through her panties. She squirms a little as he pulls them down, past her knees and her ankles, and tosses them beside the coffee table.

Her pubes are still mostly shaven but they're a little stubbly today, though, Stan could not care less. He plants wet kisses on her labia, pausing often to dip his tongue inside.

She throws her head back and moans as he sucks hard on her clit. He does this for a while before penetrating her with his tongue. For all his flaws, Stan is really good with his tongue.

"Babe, you taste so good," he says.

Wendy would usually cringe at his attempt at dirty talk but she's so hot right now that it actually sounds sexy. She moans. "I want you inside me."

Stan moves back. "Yeah? You want it?" His eyes are dark and his voice is low.

She nods. "Uh-huh. Please."

Stan sits up on his knees, undoing his belt and the fly of his pants as fast as he can. "Okay, Baby," he says, panting, as he pulls down his underwear.

Wendy whimpers as Stan enters her. She's so wet that he slips in easily, filling her with his stiff, throbbing cock. It's been months since they've had full on, penis in vagina sex. Months!

"Christ," Stan grunts, feeling her around him. He grips the edge of the couch, hard, as he thrusts into her. He pumps in and out, expeditiously but gently, not plunging as deep as he's able to in order to avoid upsetting her stomach.

"God, yeah," Wendy pants, pulling her shirt up to play with her nipples. They're a little tender to the touch but it still feels really good.

"Ah- I don't think I'm going to be able to last very long," says Stan. "You feel so fucking good."

Wendy can't seem to find the breath to speak. Instead, she just nods. She also can't manage to say anything when she climaxes. She's only able to let out a strangled cry but Stan can feel her tightening rhythmically around him.

"Oh my god," he groans as he finishes as well, filling her with white hot fluid with a few final thrusts.

He doesn't pull out immediately, instead, leaning up to kiss her, pushing his full length into her one last time. When he's mostly flaccid, he finally pulls out. His cum dribbles out of her a little bit and he tucks his dick back into his pants and rushes to grab some toilet paper for her to clean up with.

"Thanks," says Wendy, taking the tissue paper and wiping herself clean. Stan tosses her the panties he had thrown across the room. She slips them on and stands up, grabbing Stan by the hands and pulling him down for a kiss.

"So, we're okay?" asks Stan, kissing her on the forehead.

"We're better than okay. We're great," Wendy says. Her cheeks and chest are red from that post-coital flushing. She presses her nose to his chin, affectionately.

Stan smiles and moves a stray piece of hair from out of her eyes. It feels really good that things are working out for once. Well, it seems that way for now, at least.

  
  



	8. It All Comes Crashing Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know when you finally get to the chapter that you wrote the fic for in the first place? yeah. that's this chapter. from here on out things are a little... well... you'll see.

It's the Friday a week after Wendy and Stan got back together and everything is absolutely great. They had a conversation a few nights earlier about how it feels as if their relationship is the healthiest it's been in a really long time. Yeah, all in all, it's pretty fucking great.

Wendy's not here now, though. Neither is Bebe. Wendy is at a doctor's appointment with her primary care physician and Bebe had to catch her calculus professor during his extremely limited office hours. It's lunchtime and Stan, Kyle, and Eric have met in the dining hall to eat and hang out. Their university's food actually doesn't suck and they've all got a meal plan with their tuition so it's mostly just convenient to eat here.

Eric is eating a cheeseburger and pestering Kyle for his fries. Their relationship is also fairing surprisingly well. Not a whole lot has changed but Kyle referred to Eric as his boyfriend two days ago and Eric will not let him live it down.

Eric is trying, very diligently, to snatch Kyle's hat off his head without getting caught and Stan is laughing at Kyle's dismay so none of them notice when Wendy enters the hall. She looks pale and a little troubled but mostly disoriented. She's in leggings and a striped sweater with her hair pulled back in a ponytail which an unusual look for her. She hesitates when she walks in but composes herself and walks deliberately towards the boys, clutching her purse tightly against her side.

"Hi, Wendy!" Stan says, chipper, as she arrives at their table.

"Hi," Wendy says. She sounds serious and solemn. She shifts on her feet, crossing her arms, and glances, pointedly, at Eric. "Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?" she asks, in a low voice. She gestures to the hall with her head.

Eric quirks an eyebrow. "Uh, okay?" he says, standing. He knocks Kyle's hat off his head as he passes, much to Kyle's chagrin.

Wendy leads him out of the room. They're still in view of their respective partners but out of earshot over here.

"So, what's up?" Eric asks, casually, sticking his thumbs in his pockets.

"Uh," Wendy starts, hesitating. It almost sounds like a laugh but there's no joy there, just disbelief. "I went to the doctor today."

"Yeah? You good?" He looks a little concerned.

She's quiet for a minute and she purses her lips. Eric is about to ask her if she's okay, again, when she cuts him off. "I'm pregnant," she blurts out.

Eric's eyes widen. "Oh, shit! What are you and Stan gonna do? Have weird little hippie babies? Are you gonna tell him?"

Wendy gets a pained expression on her face. "Eric..." she says, slowly. "It's not Stan's."

Eric looks like he's seen a ghost and it feels like his stomach has jumped up into his throat. He takes a step backwards, away from her. "No," he says. "No, that's not... I'm not..." He can't quite figure out what he wants to say. He looks absolutely terrified and a little outraged. "You said you were on birth control," he says, accusingly this time.

"I am! I was. The doctor said that it's not fail proof and... and I guess when we... it was just the wrong time and I'm sorry," she says, shaking her head. Her chest is heaving and it looks like she wants to jump out of her skin.

Eric pinches the bridge of his nose and runs a hand through his hair, anxiously. "Wait, how do you know it's even mine? It could be Stan's, right?"

"I'm roughly seven weeks pregnant," she says. "Before last week I hadn't had sex with Stan for two months, at least. It's impossible."

"We fucked like a month ago, though. Not seven weeks." Eric is grasping at straws, now, trying to think of any way this could possibly not be true.

Wendy waves her hands, dismissively. "You're two weeks pregnant at conception," she says, "It's calculated by, like, the first day of your last period, or something."

"That doesn't even make any sense!" Eric exclaims.

"It does, just... It's yours, okay? Definitively, positively, undeniably," she says. She looks like she might cry. "I don't know what to do."

"Well, are you sure you're even pregnant?"

Wendy gives a hollow laugh and grabs him by the sleeve, leading him into an empty conference room nearby. She closes the door behind them and dumps her purse out on the table. It's full of at least six or seven pregnancy tests of varying brands, all positive. She pulls out a wrinkled sheet of paper. "This is from my doctor's appointment today. Pregnancy test- positive." She trembles. "I heard its heartbeat today." She stares down at the plastic sticks and slowly starts the task of putting them back in her purse.

Eric paces the room, restlessly. "Fuck," he says. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck!"_ He slams his hand down on the table, loudly, and Wendy flinches. "What the fuck are we gonna do!? What am _I_ gonna do!?"

Wendy shakes her head. "I don't know. I don't know!" She tries her hardest to force herself not to cry. She's cried enough about this already today. But, unfortunately, the tears come anyhow. "I have to tell Stan."

"No, you can't!" Eric barks. "Because then _Kyle's_ gonna find out and I... I can't... I can't lose the one person I've been in love with for as long as I can remember over this!"

"I can't keep this from Stan, Eric!" Wendy exclaims. "Let's just talk about it first." She's trying to be rational. She's obviously pro-choice and she knows an abortion is probably the best course of action at this point in her life but it's still a huge decision and it's something she wants Eric to be okay with. Ultimately, she knows, it's up to her.

Eric is still pacing. He paces like this when he gets really upset and can't contain himself. Wendy isn't sure if she's ever seen him this agitated before. He reminds her of a wild animal stuck in a cage. His eyes are intense and he's shaking slightly, almost like he's vibrating with anxiety and unchecked emotions.

Wendy feels like this is all her fault, even though it takes two. She's the one who pressured him to have sex with her. She's the one who's birth control failed. But, at the same time, this is just as hard, if not harder, for her. Eric is mentally ill, though, and nobody would have expected him to take something like this well. Still, she thinks he should at least _try_ to relax a little and consider how _she_ feels about all this. There is something _growing_ inside her. Something that is part of both of them. And, frankly, the whole experience has been unpleasant and frightening for her.

"Please calm down," says Wendy, composing herself and slinging her purse back over her shoulder. "I need you to calm down so we can talk about this like adults."

Eric points a finger at her. It's angry and accusatory. "Don't tell me to calm down."

"Eric, please-"

"I can't fucking deal with this right now," Eric says. His voice sounds shaky and bitter. He pushes past her and out into the hall. He doesn't stop to look at Kyle. In fact, the last thing he wants to do right now is meet his eyes. Instead, he rushes out of the building.

Wendy follows shortly after, visibly upset. She, unfortunately, locks eyes with Stan for a brief second before tearing her gaze away and running the opposite direction, sobbing.

Stan looks at Kyle and Kyle looks at Stan.

"So, uh, what do you think that was about?" Stan asks.

"God, I don't think I even want to know," says Kyle, shaking his head.

Stan begins to pack up his things. "I think I'm gonna go see if Wendy's okay," he says.

"That's probably a good idea," Kyle says. "I don't know what Cartman did but I guess tell her I'm sorry for him?" He stands, fixing his hat and picking up his bag. "I'll go check on him. I'm sure he's just back at our dorm."

Stan nods. "Okay, let me know if he's alright."

"Yeah, I will. Let me know about Wendy," Kyle says.

They give each other one last knowing look and part ways.

-

When Kyle gets home and Eric isn't there, he begins to get worried, especially since his car is gone. Eric hates driving. He avoids it at all costs so, if he drove somewhere, Kyle knows he's not in his right state of mind.

He waits an agonizingly slow half an hour before he decides to call him. The first time, it rings and rings and eventually goes to voicemail. That happens two more times but Kyle is persistent and has no tolerance for personal isolation. Finally, Eric picks up on the third ring.

"Cartman, where are you?" Kyle asks, not bothering with formalities.

 _"Driving,"_ Eric says, curtly.

Kyle huffs. "Yeah, but _where?"_

 _"Interstate,"_ says Eric.

"Where are you going?"

There's a long pause from Eric's side of the line before he finally answers. _"I've gotta go talk to Kenny."_

"Oh," says Kyle. He swallows. "Do you think you'll be back tonight?"

 _"Maybe,"_ says Eric. _"I wouldn't wait up, if I were you."_

"Well, I'm probably gonna, just so you know," Kyle says in a practically snappy voice.

He hears Eric sigh. _"Alright,"_ he says, after a while. _"I'll try to make it back tonight but no promises."_

"Okay," says Kyle, almost softly. He pauses. "Say hi to Kenny for me."

 _"Yeah, sure,"_ says Eric and then he hangs up.

Kyle stares at the phone in his hand for a second afterwards. The conversation felt awfully final and there's a knot in his stomach. He knows he won't be able to sleep tonight unless Eric comes back. He's terribly worried about him at this point. He checks the time and curses under his breath. He's still got class in fifteen minutes. He almost considers skipping class since he's reasonably going to be a little distracted but decides that, no, that's not what the intellectual inside him would want. Reluctantly, he gathers his things and rushes off to the lecture hall.

Meanwhile, Eric tears down the Colorado turnpike at just under eighty miles per hour. He's aware that he's more than ten miles above the speed limit but going fast makes him feel a little bit better. The loud music he's blasting helps slightly, too. He's on his way home, to South Park.

It's been a while since he's been back there. Occasionally he makes the two hour, one way journey to visit Kenny. Usually it's during times of tribulation like this. He feels a little guilty about how long it's been since he's stopped in but it's mostly understandable since the town holds some really unpleasant memories for him.

It's a long, somber drive and the sun is starting to set by the time he crosses into Park County.

When he reaches the town he grew up in, he slows down. The whole town is slow and sleepy, almost stagnant. He drives through Main Street, past shops he frequented regularly as a child and there's a kind of ache in his chest that he can't quite describe. It makes him feel sick.

He pointedly ignores driving down the street he lived on for the majority of his life. He can't bring himself to catch a glimpse of his mom's house. He doesn't want to think about his mom ever again.

Finally, he comes to a wrought iron fence with a tall, heavy gate that's always been perpetually propped open and he pulls his car inside, bringing it to a stop. He gets out and meanders through the darkness, eventually coming to a short cobblestone wall. He runs his hand along it as he follows it to a secluded corner. It's darker here, underneath a shady elm tree, but the moon is peeking out from behind the dense, gray clouds, illuminating the grass and the dirt and the rectangular slab of granite with a simple Times New Roman engraving.

_KENNETH McCORMICK_

_MARCH 22 1998 - JUNE 7 2015_

_BELOVED BROTHER, SON, AND FRIEND_

"Hey, Ken," Eric says, sitting down on the ground, next to the tombstone. He lights a cigarette and holds it in his lips as he lights another. With his free hand, he brushes the grass and wet, fallen leaves away from a little, glass ashtray on the ground. It's full of cigarette butts and crumbly ash from other people who knew him coming by to share a smoke. He places the smoldering cigarette carefully in it, inhaling his own pale blue smoke as the haze from the one he's lit for Kenny dances up into the sky.

-

_It was June 7th, 2015._

_It was the last day of senior year and Kyle and Stan were already at school. Eric and Kenny were running late because Kenny couldn't find the last textbook he had to turn in to be able to graduate. Eric was sitting in his old, busted up pickup truck, idling in front of Kenny's house, periodically honking the horn, impatiently._

_When Kenny finally came out, he was in ripped, faded skinny jeans, a brown hoodie, and ratty old converse shoes. His sandy hair was messy and he flashed his cheery, gap-toothed grin as he waved the textbook in the air, triumphantly. He hopped in the passenger's side, his sunny brown eyes glinting. His cheeks were extra freckled from the sun and warm weather they had been getting over the past week._

_"About damn time!" Eric said, putting his truck in reverse, backing out of the driveway. "We're probably gonna get a tardy slip on the last ever fucking day of school."_

_"Do they give tardy slips in college?" Kenny pondered. "If they do, we can have a do-over last tardy slip ever."_

_"No, they don't give tardy slips in college, dumbass," Eric snapped, rolling his eyes. "They don't give a shit what you do."_

_"Sweet. Can't wait," said Kenny. He was really looking forward to college, actually. If it weren't for their scholarship, he probably would never be able to afford a higher education. "Can you believe I'm gonna be a college graduate someday? I'm already the first one in my family to graduate high school."_

_"Bro, you're_ barely _graduating high school," Eric laughed. "One step at a time."_

_Kenny chewed on his lower lip, playing with the piercing he had given himself on a dare in junior year and ended up liking the look of. "You know," he said, "this is the start of something really big."_

_"Or the end of something," said Eric. "I feel like we're running out of time to make stuff happen."_

_"We're still kids," said Kenny. He sounded hopeful. "We can do anything."_

_Eric glanced at him out of the corner of his eye as they approached an intersection. "You think so?"_

_"Sure, man! There's a ton of shit we can do! This summer we can finally take that road trip to the Grand Canyon Stan's always wanted. I'm gonna get a tattoo. You can work up the nerve to confess your love to Kyle-"_

_"Shut the fuck up, Kenny," Eric says, trying not to grin. "I'm never gonna kiss Kyle and you're never gonna get a tattoo so you're just gonna have to learn to live with it!"_

_"I'll get a tattoo of your mom," said Kenny._

_Eric laughed. "We can take Stan's shitty road trip and that's_ it."

_"You fuckin' suck," Kenny snickered, leaning back and kicking his feet up on the dashboard. "I don't know why you're my best friend."_

_"Neither do I!" Eric exclaimed. He looked over at Kenny, just for a second, as they passed through the intersection and that was all it took._

_The last things Eric could remember were the deafening sound of metal on metal as a speeding car, not paying attention to who had the right of way, slammed into the passenger's side of his truck. He remembered tasting blood and he remembered the earth shattering pain. And, he remembered something he'd always try to forget for the rest of his life- what Kenny McCormick looked like as he died._

_Eric spent graduation in the hospital but Kenny didn't end up being able to graduate at all. And, even though it wasn't really his fault, Eric would never be able to forgive himself._

-

Eric looks up at the sky. There are heavy, leaden clouds to the east and thunder rumbles in the distance but, here, its mostly clear and there are so many stars.

"Sorry I haven't visited in a while," Eric says, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Things have been... weird. They've been really, really weird. I mean, to cut to the chase, I finally got Kyle to admit he likes me back. We're kind of boyfriends now. He says hi, by the way."

He can almost hear Kenny's mellow voice in his ear asking him if he's fucked him yet.

"No, I haven't tapped it yet," Eric replies to his imaginary conversation. "But he sucks my dick sometimes so I'm still winning." He sighs. "I think he's waiting for me to make a move. That is, if Bebe Stevens can be trusted. I know you would say so since you were like... in love with her or something. To be honest, though, I'm pretty terrified." He lets the weight of that sink it. It isn't really about the idea of having sex with Kyle. It's kind of symbolic. He's got a lot of emotions and, every time he visits here, the grief feels fresh and new and raw.

"You were my best friend," he finds himself saying, aloud. "You were my favorite person and I let you die." His voice wavers, slightly. He's never said these things before. He's always thought them, deep in the recesses of his mind, but this is the first time he feels vulnerable enough to speak them. He knows this is why he's had trouble getting close to Kyle, or anyone, really.

He knows that Kenny wouldn't blame him for what happened. Logistically, he knows that. But it still hurts. It's always going to hurt.

"I really fucked up, Kenny," Eric says. He wipes his nose on his sleeve. "I fucked up big time and I think it's going to ruin everything. I'm gonna lose Kyle... and Stan... and Wendy... And I don't think I'm gonna be able to take it, Kenny, I really don't." He exhales deeply, leaning against the tombstone.

"You'd laugh at me if you were here, you know that?" he says. "I mean, I got _Wendy_ knocked up _._ Hell, I'd laugh about it if it wasn't so upsetting. And terrifying. Like, what if she keeps it and I end up being somebody's _dad?_ Can you even _imagine?_ " He shakes his head but the idea really strikes him. What _if_ he ends up being a father? What would he do? How would he feel? It's something he's never really considered before and the thought makes him feel something strange in the pit of his stomach and he isn't sure what.

He really tries to imagine what Kenny would say. Would he encourage him? Would he make fun of him? Eric isn't sure. Plus, it's hard to visualize what he'd be like as a dad when he, himself, never had one. He kind of likes the idea of being a really good dad to make up for the absence of his father and the abuse of his mother. It feels inappropriate to think that way so he tries to push those feelings down and out of sight.

"I don't know what to do," he says to Kenny. "I don't know what to say to Wendy. I don't know what to say to _Kyle._ Or to Stan. I feel like a jackass." He inhales the acrid smoke from his Marlboro cigarette and holds it in his lungs for a few seconds before letting it out in a long, wispy puff. "God, this fucking sucks."

A lot of things suck, he thinks. It sucks that Kenny's not here. It sucks that he got Wendy pregnant. It sucks that when Kyle finds out he'll probably dump him. It sucks that Stan's gonna kick his ass. Everything sucks and he kind of wishes he could just disappear.

He's been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder for a long time and he knows it makes him do things a little irrationally. He gets jealous and angry too easily. He takes too many risks and doesn't have very good control over his emotions. He's self destructive and self loathing. But, most of all, he's terrified of being abandoned. He knows he's going to lose everybody over this. He knows he's going to lose _Kyle_ over this and that's probably the worst thing he can imagine right now.

He lightly elbows Kenny's headstone as if it was really him sitting there with him. "Hey, Ken, any chance you've got room for my fat ass in your grave? Because I'm seriously considering fucking off from the mortal coil before things go even more to shit." After everything else he's said, it's this that causes his voice to break. He leans back against the hard, cold masonry and chokes back a sob. "Oh god, Kenny. What am I gonna do?"

He lets himself cry for a while, like he always does when he visits Kenny. It's probably the only time he puts down the asshole facade and lets himself just be. After an hour or so, he's finished his third cigarette and he's all out of tears. He dries his eyes with his shirt and exhales loudly. It's very dark and very cold and Kenny's cigarette is no longer burning in the ashtray. The clouds have moved in and the first few raindrops are beginning to fall. One hits Eric directly in the eyeball as he stands up.

He gives the top of the stone a couple of heavy pats. "Thanks for listening, Kenny," he says. "I miss you, man."

With that, he forces himself away and he walks back to his car. He's freezing so he cranks the heat up and sits there, shivering, until it warms up. Finally, backs out of the cemetery and starts the long drive back to Denver.

It'll be after midnight when he gets back. He wonders if Kyle will actually be waiting up for him. He usually does when he's late coming home. He says it's because he doesn't want Eric to wake him up when he comes in but it's really because he gets worried. Kyle is always worried about something.

Eric knows that Kyle is most likely worried sick about him. He feels bad. He hates feeling guilty but it seems he's got a lot to feel guilty about these days.

About forty minutes into his drive, his gas light comes on and he's forced to pull into an empty 7-Eleven. He fills up his tank, uses the bathroom, and buys a candy bar, a cup of coffee, and a Red Bull because he's pretty fucking bushed already. As he climbs back into his car, he catches a glimpse of his phone laying on the passenger's side seat and considers calling Kyle to let him know that he's on his way home. He decides against it, pulling out of the parking lot and back onto the highway. He's not really quite sure why he doesn't but he doesn't, nonetheless.

He can't stop thinking about Kyle. He knows he should be thinking about other things like the disservice he's done Wendy by accidentally impregnating her with his (presumably) demon spawn or the way he's betrayed his good friend Stan. But no. He just thinks about Kyle and how pissed off he's going to be when he finds out. It makes his heart ache.

He actually contemplates breaking up with him as soon as he gets home and then sleeping on a couch in the common area just to make sure that _Kyle_ can't break up with _him._ He thinks it might be easier to take if he's the one doing it. He knows he won't be able to do it, though. He's too in love with Kyle. Like, really really in love with him. In love with him to a capacity he didn't think he was able to. More than he probably should considering the brevity of their relationship. It's nothing new, though. He's loved Kyle like this for a really long time. The length of time in which he's been pining for this stupid redhead just makes the prospect of losing him over this all the harder to swallow. It hurts. It all hurts.

He starts to have a panic attack as he takes the exit into Denver. He's trembling as he drives and not from all the caffeine coursing through his veins. He feels like he's on fire, burning just beneath the skin.

At the next red light, he fumbles around in the glove compartment and finds a translucent orange pill bottle. It's mostly empty but still has a few Xanax in there. Eric pops two in his mouth and swallows them dry. That's double his normal dosage and he thinks that, maybe, that was a bad idea but he's freaking out and doesn't really care.

He's so afraid to be face to face with Kyle again but, at the same time, he has a desperate need to be near him. He doesn't want to lie to him. He wants to tell him everything. He can't, though. Not without talking more with Wendy first and that's the last thing he wants to do right now. He decides, as he pulls haphazardly onto his college campus, that maybe he'll just say nothing at all.

He parks crookedly in the dormitory parking lot. He dry heaves twice from sheer anxiety before he can even get out of the car but he forces himself not to throw up and heads inside. He bolts up the stairs, hoping to run off some of the panic before he gets to his room. He thinks it works a little bit but it might also just be the benzos kicking in. By the time he's standing in front of his door his heart is still pounding but he's not shaking quite so much. He is filled with determination now, at least. He's not sure what he's determined to do, though. Convince Kyle to stay without giving him a reason to leave? Presumably.

He fumbles with his keys with jittery hands for just a second but is able to unlock the door this time. The lights are out, except for a dim desk lamp. He creeps in, hoping Kyle is asleep. However, this isn't the case. Kyle comes out of the bathroom, almost instantaneously, as soon as he hears the door open.

"Cartman!" Kyle yelps. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

Eric can't think of anything to say. He feels so much looking at Kyle standing there in nothing but boxer briefs and a t-shirt with his messy curls and look of concern on his face. He does the only thing he can do. He grabs Kyle roughly by the shirt collar and pulls him into a long, breathless kiss.

Kyle lets out a sound of surprise but kisses back, readily and hungrily. "Eric, what are you doing?" he asks.

Eric's always wanted Kyle to call him by his first name and it almost sends shock waves through his body when he hears it. He still doesn't say anything, but a low sound, almost like a growl, escapes his throat and he pushes Kyle up against the wall, kissing his neck, roughly, and pulling off his shirt.

"Oh, fuck," Kyle murmurs, seemingly forgetting his line of questions as he helps Eric shed his clothes as well until they're both in only underwear. He can feel Eric's hard cock pressing up against his stomach as they grind against each other, kissing desperately.

In one quick motion, Eric grabs Kyle by the thighs and hoists him up onto his hips. He's surprisingly steady as he carries him across the room and throws him down on his bed, leaning down on top of him. He fumbles around on the nightstand for a moment with one hand but tilts Kyle's head to the side so he can kiss bruises onto his neck.

Kyle lets out a small noise as Eric slips him out of his underwear. Eric runs one hand, tantalizingly down his stomach, toying with the wispy orange trail of hair beneath Kyle's belly button. With the other hand, he brings a finger to Kyle's mouth, parting his lips gently. Kyle accepts it and sucks on it, wetly, looking up at Eric with dark, eager eyes.

Suddenly, Eric's hand disappears from his mouth and Kyle hears the click of a bottle cap. Within seconds, he feels a cool, slick finger press up against his ass and he gasps as Eric pushes it inside him, moving it in an out, slowly, then adds another. He easily finds his prostate and kneads it, gently, with his fingers and Kyle cries out and his dick dribbles precum onto his stomach.

He reaches up to find something to hold on to but finds nothing so he runs his hand up to Eric's shoulder, digging his fingernails in slightly. "Jesus Christ," is all he's able to say.

Eric still doesn't talk but he's breathing heavily and his eyes are ravenous. He fucks Kyle with his fingers for a minute longer before pulling them out and hastily flips Kyle onto his front.

"Ah," Kyle whimpers. "Fuck me."

Eric strokes his cock a few times, coating it with clear lube. He presses it up against Kyle's entrance. Finally, he speaks and his voice is low and husky. "Is this what you want?"

"Yeah," Kyle pants, impatiently. "Uh-huh."

Without another word, Eric pushes slowly into him, all the way to the base of his cock. His knees tremble a little bit. After all, this is what he's wanted to do for years and years and years.

Kyle lets out a long moan into the pillows. "Oh my fucking god." He's done this before, with other people, but this time it's almost too much for him to take. It feels incredible, though.

Eric pulls out, almost entirely, holding Kyle at the hips, before thrusting back into him. He does this a few more times, just savoring the feeling, but quickly picks up speed and fucks him in an even, moderate pace.

Kyle is a loud lover. He truly cannot shut up and his obscene moans and yelps are hitched every time Eric's hips meet the cleft of his ass.

Eric is unusually quiet but he still can't manage to contain his soft, steady grunts in time with his thrusts. He doesn't want to finish too quickly since he's got a sickening fear that this will be the only time this will ever happen so, when he feels himself getting close to the edge, he slows down his tempo and focuses on force rather than speed.

However, it only takes Kyle ten or fifteen minutes of this until he's about to climax. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum," he pants. That's more than Eric can handle and he speeds up his thrusts to maximum velocity, slamming into him as fast as he can, with the salacious, fleshy sound of skin on skin.

Kyle cums with a sustained moan, legs trembling, without ever touching himself.

Eric absolutely cannot take the feeling of Kyle's ass tightening around his cock and he cums inside him, filling him with warmth and groaning so loud it's almost a shout. He stays inside him, still rocking steadily, riding out their orgasms until they're both soft. He pulls out and flops onto his side. Kyle rolls towards him and they kiss again.

"You are baffling," Kyle says, breathlessly. "I try to understand how you work and I just can't figure you out."

"That's probably for the best," Eric says, quietly.

"Are you gonna tell me what you and Wendy talked about?" asks Kyle.

"No," says Eric.

"Why not?"

"Because," Eric says, "I fucked up. I fucked up big time."

Kyle purses his lips. "Well, you should tell me what happened so I can help you fix it."

"You can't fix it. I can't even fix it," he says.

"But-"

"Please just drop it," Eric says and it comes out sharper than he had been anticipating.

Kyle flinches. "Okay," he says. They're both quiet for a while and Kyle watches Eric stare up at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," Eric says, finally. There's a lot that he's sorry for. He's sorry for snapping. He's sorry for keeping secrets. He's sorry that he got Wendy pregnant. He's sorry that he had sex with her in the first place. He's sorry for years and years of misdeeds. He doesn't clarify, though. It's just a generic apology for everything.

He's tearing up a little bit but he decides that the only time he'd let Kyle see him cry is in some sort of life or death circumstance, so he hides his face in Kyle's shoulder.

Kyle sighs and runs his fingers through Eric's hair. "It's okay. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

Eric absolutely does _not_ want to talk about it tomorrow but he lets Kyle have this one for tonight, at least.

For now, they sleep.


	9. Seven Percent

"Are you sure you're okay in there?" Bebe asks, through the bathroom door. It's almost noon the next day and Wendy's been really acting unlike herself for the past twenty-four hours or so. There's been a lot of sobbing and locking herself in her bedroom, multiple concerned and fruitless visits from Stan, and now she's in the bathroom puking her guts out.

"I'm fine," Wendy chokes back. Her voice is weak and trembling slightly but she sounds as strong willed as ever. She cuts herself short by vomiting, loudly, into the toilet. She coughs a few times and spits. "I've literally never been better."

Bebe makes a face. "Okay, but, Stan's been calling you nonstop and I'm pretty sure if I have to tell him you're not home when he comes looking for you one more time, he's going to strangle me to death or something. I wish you would at least tell me why he's not allowed to see you," she says. "Plus, this is like, the second time you've gotten the stomach flu in a month. Are you sure you don't want me to drive you to urgent care or something?"

"No," Wendy says. The toilet flushes and there's the sound of water from the sink. "I went to the doctor yesterday and he said I'm fine." She opens the door. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun and she looks pallid and sweaty. She's in a tank top and exercise shorts and her bathrobe is draped loosely around her petite shoulders.

"Jesus, you look terrible," says Bebe but when Wendy gives her a shady look she continues. "But, like, in a really sexy way, of course."

Wendy snorts and shuffles past her, into her bedroom. She crawls into bed and curls up on her side. "Just leave me to die," she says.

Bebe frowns and opens her mouth to say something but is interrupted by a knock at the front door.

"Ugh," Wendy groans, rolling over and shoving her face in a pillow. "Don't even answer it."

"I have to, it might be my Sephora order. You should _see_ the eye shadow palette I bought. I'm obsessed with it," Bebe says, giving her an apologetic glance as she turns and heads out into the living room. She peeks through the peep hole but can't tell exactly what she's looking at so she opens it. She's expecting a delivery man or Stan but what she gets is Eric, looking down at her with a serious, cantankerous expression.

"Hey," Eric says, gruffly. He's in a brown leather jacket and he's got a plastic grocery bag full of something around his arm. "Is Wendy here?"

"She is," Bebe says, warily. She crosses her arms, "She's sick, though."

"Yeah, well, she caught it from me," Eric says, pushing past her into the apartment.

He tromps through the living room and down the hall to Wendy's room. The door is ajar but he knocks on it anyway. He clears his throat, loudly, to announce himself.

"Oh," Wendy says, quietly, from inside. "Come in."

He does as she says, shutting the door behind him. "Hi," he says. He looks her over as she lays there. "You look like shit."

"Hilarious," she says, flatly, sitting up. She knows she looks like death but, frankly, she's tired of people pointing it out to her. "You know, you're not looking so hot either."

She's right. Eric looks exhausted and unkempt and his brow seems like it's permanently furrowed. There are dark circles under his eyes and his hair is wild and uncombed.

"I didn't sleep much," he says. He gestures to the yellow grocery bag he's carrying. "I brought you some stuff 'cuz I was kind of acting like a dick yesterday. And also because it's sort of my fault that you feel like a steaming pile of hot garbage." He tosses the bag to her on the bed. He lingers, awkwardly, by the door like he might have to bolt at any second.

"Thanks," says Wendy. She looks in the bag. The first things she sees are a can of ginger ale, a pack of sour candies, and a sympathy card. She takes the card out and holds it up. "What is this for?"

"Well, they didn't have any 'Sorry I Got You Knocked Up' cards so I figured this would suffice," Eric says.

Despite herself, Wendy has to giggle a little. It's thoughtful, at least. She rifles through the bag some more. There's a lot of stuff in here. "Dill pickles? And chocolate?"

"I don't know shit about pregnant chicks so I told the cashier at the dollar store that I needed pregnancy stuff for my sister and I just bought whatever she suggested," he admits.

"I like that you felt like you had to make up a fake pregnant sister instead of just saying you have a pregnant friend," Wendy snickers.

"Hey, I felt put on the spot and the fucking Dollar General cashier doesn't need to know my whole life story," he says.

Wendy shrugs and pulls the last item out of the bag. It's a pink bottle of gummy vitamins. "Oh," she says. "Prenatal vitamins."

"I don't know what the fuck those are but they have a little picture of a pregnant lady on them so I thought they might be relevant," says Eric, sheepishly.

Wendy swallows, reading the label for longer than it should probably take to read a label. "I think these are only for if you plan on keeping the baby," she says, finally. Her voice is quiet and a little strained.

Some sort of unreadable look passes over Eric's face for a moment. "Oh. Okay. I didn't know you made up your mind on that, yet."

"I haven't," says Wendy, giving him a sharp, glancing look. "There's a lot to consider. We can talk about it, if you want to. " She exhales loudly through her nose and pushes back any stray hairs that have fallen in front of her eyes. "I want to talk about it. I want you to want to talk about it."

Eric hesitates and it looks like he might hightail it out of there. "Uh," he mutters, unsure of what to say. "Shit, okay." He sighs and sits down in Wendy's desk chair, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. "What do you want from me? What do you need me to do?"

"Eric, I just... What do you think we should do? I'm not asking for you to make a decision for us, moving forward, but I genuinely need to know what your feelings are and what you think would be best for you," says Wendy, mirroring his position.

Eric sits up an drapes his arm over the back of the chair, propping one foot up on the corner of the desk. "I mean, I think you should probably just kill it," he says, startlingly nonchalant.

"Eric!" Wendy yelps, a little astonished with his apathy. She scowls at him. She expected this to be his solution but she didn't think he would phrase it like that. Knowing Eric Cartman, though, it's not all that surprising. Still, though, it almost feels like a slap in the face.

"What!?" Eric all but shouts, throwing his hands up. "What did you want me to say? That I'm super fuckin' pumped to be a dad? Because I'm not!" He pauses, slumping back into the chair, boring holes into the carpet with his eyes. Finally, he looks up at her. "I could be, though. I think so, maybe."

Wendy stares at him, trying to get a read on what he's thinking by the expression on his face. As usual, though, Eric is perpetually an enigma.

"Really?" she asks. Part of her is afraid that what seems to be Eric letting down his guard for once might actually be some sort of underhanded manipulative tactic. The other, more forgiving part of her, though, aches for some reason.

"Yeah, I mean, I never had a dad so I doubt I'd know what I'd be doing but, like... I don't know. I wanna... I wanna be better." He sounds surprisingly determined. He swallows. "Sorry, that was gay."

"No, I get it," says Wendy. She's kind of interested in his mechanism of thinking, here. She's minoring in psychology and, honestly, Eric Theodore Cartman is a psychologist's wet dream. She rubs her eyes, tiredly. "I want that for you, too. But... I guess my biggest issue is that we're _really_ young, Eric."

"We're not _that_ young," Eric says. "My mom was only like eighteen when she had me."

"Yeah, but I don't wanna have a kid in _college."_

"Well, you'll technically be graduated by then."

"You know what I mean!" Wendy exclaims. She pinches the bridge of her nose. "Listen, Eric. I think you would be a good dad. I really do." She sincerely means it, too. "But it's just not the right time for either of us and I think we need to be realistic about this."

"You can just have it and then I'll take it," Eric says, quickly. "I'll single dad it up or whatever."

Wendy scrunches up her nose and narrows her eyes. "Wait, what? A minute ago you were on the abortion train and now you wanna be a _single dad?_ Eric, you've gotta make up your mind because you're giving me whiplash over this."

Eric snickers to himself for a second over the image the phrase 'abortion train' puts in his head.

"Stop laughing at 'abortion train,'" says Wendy, with a frown. "I'm being serious. You don't even have a job. You don't have any support system. And what about Kyle?"

"What _about_ Kyle?" Eric snaps, defensively. "This doesn't involve Kyle. This has nothing to _do_ with Kyle."

"If you want to be in a dedicated, long-term relationship with somebody, I think you should _probably_ ask them about this kind of thing before you go around offering to commit yourself to parenthood, of all things!" says Wendy. "Do you even know how he feels about kids? Have you asked him about this at all?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Then _that's_ why this involves Kyle! Just like how it involves Stan. It's not just me and you!"

"Then, fuck! I don't give a shit what you do!" Eric shouts, jumping to his feet. "Kill it, keep it, fucking eat it, it doesn't matter to me!"

"Jesus, Eric, calm the fuck down!" Wendy exclaims, standing as well. She ignores the wave of nausea that passes over her, and grabs the bedpost to steady herself. "Why can't we have a normal conversation about this without you flying into some kind of berserker rage!? Can you _please_ just be a fucking grown up for once!? You're talking about being a father when you're a _fucking_ _man child_ yourself!"

Eric's eyes are wide and wild and his face gets red and hot. Wendy gets the sinking feeling that she _might have_ hit a nerve but, in the moment, she can't bring herself to care.

When he speaks, though, his voice is low and cold. "If I would have known what a fucking mess I was getting myself into, I never would have let you convince me to fuck you."

Wendy barks a laugh but it's dry and sarcastic. "Oh, so now it's _my_ fault?" She puts her hands on her hips, incredulously.

"Well, it sure ain't mine!" says Eric. "'Oh, you don't need to use a condom, Eric. I'm on absolutely fucking useless birth control so please fuck me with your giant gay cock and cum inside me before I run back to my little bitch boy and his teeny tiny peenie.'" he says, in a high-pitched mockery of Wendy's voice.

"Seven percent!" Wendy shouts. Her nostrils are flared and her gaze is piercing. She's trembling with anger.

Eric cocks an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"Seven percent," she says again, in a more even tone, although her voice is faltering slightly. "That's the failure rate for the birth control pill. Seven. Percent. I've had sex with Stan _hundreds_ of times and it's _never_ failed me before. I'm not gonna lie that it's _a little fucking ridiculous_ that the _one_ time in my _entire life_ that I have sex with somebody else- YOU of all the _goddamn_ people in the world- I end up pregnant! Seven fucking percent, Eric! There was a ninety-three percent chance that nothing would have happened and we could have just gone on with our lives and never talked about it ever again!"

"And yet, here we are!" says Eric. He paces back and forth a few times. "And there's nothing I can do about it, either way, so I don't even know why you even told me."

"Why I even told you? What was I _supposed_ to do? Just go get an abortion in secret? Don't be stupid, Eric," she spits. "I don't wanna have your fucking kid but I'm going to at least _discuss_ it with you!" She touches her stomach, almost absently. "It's not just mine," she says, softer. "It's my body but this... thing... Fetus? Embryo? It's not just me. It's not just mine."

Eric shudders a little and he's not sure why. "I gotta go," he says, shortly, reaching for the door knob.

"Eric!" Wendy cries. "Wait!" She leaps forward and grabs him by the wrist. "Please just _talk_ to me about it!"

Roughly, Eric shrugs her off of him and flings the door open, stomping down the hall. He passes Bebe, eating a yogurt, in the living room and she notices his tumultuous expression.

"Hey, dude, are you okay?" she asks.

"Fuckin' peachy," he says, leaving and slamming the door loudly behind him.

Bebe glances back and forth for a second, licking the yogurt off the back of her spoon before placing her snack down on the coffee table and standing up. She goes back to Wendy's room. "Uh, what was that all about?" she asks, leaning in the doorway. She looks really pretty in her red sweater and high-waisted jeans.

Wendy gulps. "Did you hear any of that?" She's a little teary and she dries her eyes with a tissue.

"Not really," Bebe says with a shrug. "I had my headphones on for the most part." She leans on one arm on the desk. "He looked pissed and you look upset so girl, what's going on? You know you can tell me." She looks at her with sincere, blue eyes.

Wendy sits back down on the edge of her bed, pushing her hair back and inhaling sharply. "You've gotta promise me that you won't say anything. To _anybody,"_ she says.

Bebe holds up three fingers. "Girl Scout's honor."

Wendy hesitates for a moment before sighing. "Okay. I trust you," she says, quietly. "I don't have the stomach flu. It's morning sickness."

Bebe's jaw drops. "No way."

Wendy nods timidly. "Yeah. And it's not Stan's, if you hadn't figured that out yet."

Bebe's hand flies to her mouth. "Wait a second. You slept with _Cartman!?"_

"Yes," Wendy hisses, "Don't say it out loud."

"I'm just... Wow!" Bebe exclaims, dropping her hands to her hips. "Though, I've _seen_ pictures of his dick and I completely understand." She purses her bright red lips and nods.

Wendy squints at her. "We were drunk and I told him not to wear a condom and my birth control failed me. Now I'm... I have a..." She pinches the bridge of her nose and falls back onto her bed on her back. "I'm pregnant with _Eric Cartman's baby,"_ she bemoans. "This is probably the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

"I take it you haven't told Stan," Bebe says. She hops into bed with Wendy and pulls her knees up to her chin. "What are you gonna do?"

"I don't know. I honestly don't know," says Wendy. She sighs. "I think Eric wants to keep it."

"What!? _Cartman_ wants to be a _dad!?"_ Bebe asks in disbelief. "Are we talking about the same Eric Cartman that we've known since preschool? _That_ Eric Cartman?"

"Apparently!"

"Well, what do _you_ want to do?" asks Bebe.

Wendy shakes her head. "I really kind of just want this thing out of me." She presses her hand to her lower stomach. It's a bizarre feeling knowing that there's something inside her. It gives her many emotions, none of them positive.

"I support you a hundred percent no matter what," Bebe says. "If you need somebody to come with you to get an abortion, I'll be there. If you decide you wanna keep it, I claim being the godmother. Also, I'll hold your hand while you're in the delivery room, screaming your head off."

Wendy chuckles. "Thanks, Bebe."

Bebe gives her a long hug and, halfway through, Wendy realizes she's crying into Bebe's shoulder, her teardrops wetting her red sweater.

"Oh, honey," says Bebe, rocking her gently. "Everything's going to be okay, I promise."

Wendy nods, blubbering against her, trying not to get snot everywhere. Damn pregnancy hormones. She sniffs. "I've gotta tell Stan. Eric's gotta tell Kyle." She lets out a long breath. "This is gonna suck. It's all so hard."

Bebe doesn't say anything but rubs her hand on her shoulder and gives her an apologetic glance.

Things aren't about to get easier any time soon.

  
  



	10. Violent Delights and Violent Ends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like maybe nobody likes this fic so i'm kinda losing steam on it but I'm still planning on finishing it. I'm probably going to finish chapter 13 today so here's chapter ten in the meantime.

The next Friday, after class, Eric meets Wendy at the park. She's got two venti mochas and she hands one to him as he sits down beside her on a wooden bench. The October air is cold and crisp and there's a slight breeze that whips their scarves around their shoulders.

"I think we should wait until Sunday," Eric says, after they sit together in a long, heavy silence, sipping their coffees. He doesn't have to say what he's referring to. Wendy understands. He's talking about telling Stan and Kyle about their little secret.

"I don't want to keep it from Stan for that much longer," says Wendy. "Hasn't it been hard keeping it from Kyle? I'm surprised he hasn't interrogated it out of you by now." She looks up at the sky. It's late afternoon and the sky is blue and clear aside from some scattered, fluffy, white clouds. She focuses on an particularly long chem-trail left by a jet plane as she waits for Eric's response.

"I've been avoiding him," Eric says. "I can't look at him without picturing what it's going to look like when he kicks my ass into next week. Stan too."

"How are you avoiding your _roommate?"_ Wendy asks.

"I don't come home until he's already asleep or I go to sleep before he gets home," Eric explains. "If he catches me awake I tell him I have to take a shit and then I hide out in the bathroom for an hour or until he gets bored."

"That's just stupid," Wendy says.

"Yeah, well, I guess that's what happens when you develop a conscience. I kind of hate it. I wish I could go back to not caring about anybody."

"We're gonna tell them tonight," Wendy says, firmly. "You can tell Kyle yourself or wait for him to hear it from Stan. Those are your options."

Eric sighs and takes a long, purposeful sip of his hot coffee. "Alright, fine." He looks down at the ground. "Thanks for the coffee, anyhow."

"You're welcome."

Eric quickly stands to leave. "I gotta go. I've got... stuff to do..." He doesn't really. He just finds talking to Wendy makes him uncomfortable these days. He can't look at her without remembering that he's ruined both of their lives.

Wendy doesn't protest, though. "Okay," she says, giving him a slight wave as he trots off through the park. She sits there by herself for a while, drinking her coffee and savoring the cool air. Soon, however, her phone rings. It's Kyle.

"Hello?" she answers, hesitantly.

 _"Uh, hi,"_ says Kyle, sounding a little nervous. _"So, I have a kind of weird question."_

"Shoot," she says.

_"Have you talked to Cartman lately? I know you guys had a fight or whatever, but he's been really distant and he won't talk to me."_

Wendy gets a knot in her stomach. Oh, she feels so guilty. Poor Kyle has no idea what's coming. "I have," she says with a gulp. "Um, he's planning to talk to you tonight, I think." She hopes she doesn't sound too awkward.

Kyle lets out a breath into the receiver. _"Okay, thanks. He's been really off lately."_

"Yeah, I know," Wendy says, grimly. "He's got a lot on his mind. I hope you guys have a productive conversation about it."

 _"Me too,"_ says Kyle. _"I've been getting pretty concerned."_

"Yes, well, I hope I can talk to you soon," she says. She really means it. She likes Kyle a lot and she hopes they can still be friends after he finds out what's happened.

 _"Yeah, absolutely. Thanks, Wendy,"_ he says.

"Bye, Kyle."

_"Bye."_

She hangs up and puts her head in her hands. Things are so complicated. Shes so nervous for Eric to talk to Kyle. She's not sure how he's going to react but she knows that Eric doesn't take rejection well and she's worried for him. Even more than that, though, she's worried about her relationship with Stan. She's afraid that she might have permanently damaged the foundation of their partnership. There's no use putting it off any longer, though, she thinks as she stands, tossing her empty paper coffee cup into the nearby trashcan. She looks down at her phone and types a quick text to Stan asking him to meet her at her apartment. She has something she needs to get off her chest.

-

Stan sits down on Wendy's sofa as she paces the floor, anxiously.

"Baby, you know you can tell me anything," he says. "I love you. I'm not gonna be mad." He's a little concerned, though. He can't really think of anything that he thinks Wendy would do to get herself so worked up.

"Stan, it's really bad. I mean it," she warns. "You should probably just break up with me now before I say anything."

Stan breathes a tense laugh. "Wendy, I'm not going to break up with you. There's nothing you could tell me that would make me want to break up with you." He means it, too. He's been broken up with her for long enough over the past month. He's determined to make sure he never has to go through that again, no matter what life throws at them. Wendy is his person. The love of his life. Whatever it is, he's just going to have to get over it.

"Stan," she says in a quivering voice. She clutches at the fabric of her shirt, right over her stomach. There are big, fat tears in her eyes, threatening to well over. "Wh- when we were broken up... I slept with somebody..."

Stan swallows hard. He feels a little sick and it stings a little but he's prepared himself for this. "It's okay," he says.

"No, it's not!" she says, her voice shattering. "It's not okay because that's not even the worst part. The worst part is who it was and what's happened because of it." She brings her hand to her mouth and sobs into her palm.

Stan's bushy eyebrows knit together. "Wendy. Talk to me."

"I'm pregnant," she whimpers.

Stan's eyes go wide. "You're _what?"_

Wendy whips around and pushes her hair back on her forehead. "I knew it. I knew you would be angry. I'm so sorry, Stan. I'm so so sorry." She clutches the kitchen island for support as she cries.

Suddenly, though, Stan is behind her, holding her by the waist. "Wendy, please just breathe. It's okay. I'm not mad. I promise I'm not mad."

She turns around. "You're not?" she asks, through her tears, looking up at him.

"No. I'm... I'm..." He thinks. "I guess I'm a little hurt. But I'm not mad. It's not your fault." He kisses the top of her head. "We'll figure it out."

Somehow, the realization that Stan feels _hurt_ instead of angry is even worse. She snivels loudly. "I wish it was yours," she says. "Then I'd know what to do."

"You would?" Stan asks, tilting his head slightly.

Wendy nods. "I'd keep your baby. I _want_ to have kids with you. I _want_ our little black-haired babies. I _want_ to be tied to you forever. Not to..." She trails off. This is the hardest part. Her stomach feels very sick and it's not morning sickness this time.

"Is it somebody I know?" Stan asks, immediately regretting the question.

"Yes," says Wendy, shortly. She won't meet his eyes.

"Can you tell me who?"

"You'll find out even if I don't tell you and I'd rather you heard it from me," says Wendy. "But I want you to know that we were drunk and it didn't mean anything."

"Okay," says Stan. He's bracing himself for the worst.

"It's Eric's," she says quickly. The words feel disgusting in her mouth.

Stan had braced himself for the worst but this takes him off guard. "Eric _Cartman?"_

"Yes," Wendy sighs.

"Christ," Stan murmurs, running his fingers through his hair, trying to wrap his head around this revelation. He rubs at his temple, thinking for a while before he speaks again. "Kyle's gonna kill him," he says with a twinge of concern in his voice. If anything, though, once the initial shock of it wears off, he's actually pretty relieved that it's Eric. He doesn't have to worry about Eric trying to steal his girl and he knows that it didn't mean anything when they slept together. Anyhow, he takes a quick hit off of his inhaler.

"And you're not?"

"I mean, sure, I'll kick his ass if you want me to but I'm pretty sure he didn't mean any harm." He blinks. "For once in his life..." he adds, questioningly. "I feel like he would have immediately rubbed it in my face if he wanted me to feel bad about it."

"He didn't, he didn't," Wendy says, shaking her head. "I was very sad and very drunk and I pressured him into it."

 _"You_ pressured _him?"_

Wendy pinches the bridge of her nose. "It's embarrassing but, unfortunately, yes." She sighs. "I just wanted some kind of frame of reference for when you and I got back together. I didn't think any of _this_ would happen." She rests her forehead against Stan's firm chest. "I'm sorry for everything."

"You're okay," Stan mutters into her hair. "We're okay."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, of course," says Stan. "I'm not, like, super thrilled but whatever you wanna do, I'm here for you." He shrugs. "I could be a dad."

Wendy quirks an eyebrow. "Really? You'd be okay with that?"

"I mean, I kind of assumed we would have kids someday, anyhow. It doesn't have to be mine biologically to be _mine,_ you know?" Stan says. "I just want you. All that I really want it life is you and some kids and a house and a dog. Multiple dogs." He really wants a dog.

She exhales against his shirt. "You're too good for me, Stan."

"That's stupid," he says. "Nobody's too good for you. You're amazing."

"Oh, stop," Wendy says. She sighs deeply. "I don't know what to do. I keep trying to talk to Eric about it but he's... Ah... He's really going through it. I can't get him to sit still and calm down long enough to have a productive conversation with him."

Stan hums, thoughtfully. "He's probably more worried about what Kyle will do than anything." He bites his lip. "Shit, I hope they don't break up. Cartman can't handle rejection and I love Kyle but I don't want to listen to him complain about it for the next two weeks." Kyle complains a lot.

Wendy sighs. "I hope they're okay."

-

Eric is not okay. He's laying on the floor of his dorm room, on his back, in a giant X. All the lights are off and it's getting dark out but he can't muster the energy to get up and turn the lights on. He's waiting for Kyle to get home from the library where he's working on a research project. He stares in silence at the ceiling, waiting and rehearsing the conversation in his head.

Eventually, Kyle comes home. He squints at the darkness when he comes in and frowns down at Eric laying on the floor. He flicks the lights on and Eric blinks at the sudden brightness.

"What are you doing?" Kyle asks, setting his stuff down on his desk.

"Decomposing," Eric says, gravely.

Kyle looks down at him. "You've been really weird lately."

"Yeah, I know," says Eric. He clears his throat. "I gotta talk to you."

Kyle exhales through his nose. "Yeah, you do. Because, if we're gonna be-"

"Don't say it," Eric interrupts. He sits up. "Don't give me the whole 'if we're gonna be in a relationship you've gotta be honest with me' speech. I'm gonna have a fucking stroke if you do that."

Kyle frowns. "Okay, well, what's up then?" He looks at him expectantly.

"Sit down, Jew," Eric says, rising to his feet.

Kyle's kind of anxious. Eric is acting really out of character. He sits down on the edge of his bed. "Cartman, you'd better-"

Eric cuts him off with a groan. "Kyle, _please._ I'm trying to tell you something, here. Can you not psych me out for five fucking seconds."

"Fine! I'll shut up! Just tell me or whatever!" says Kyle, crossing his arms with a scowl.

Eric lets out a trembling breath. "Okay, so, do you remember last month when we made out and did sex stuff for the first time and I told you that I had sex with somebody before that?"

"Yeah," Kyle says, slowly, narrowing his eyes.

"Haha," Eric laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Funny story about that, actually."

"Go on," Kyle prompts. His eyes are intense and Eric is straight up afraid of him.

"Yeah, so, um, I should preface this with the fact that I had like four beers and two straight shots of Everclear before we did it. You ever have Everclear before? Shit's nasty but it gets you fucked up," he rambles.

"Cartman," Kyle snaps. "Get to the point."

"Right, uhhh..." He hops up on his toes, anxiously. "Ergh, so I wanna tell you who it was because I really fucked up but you can't get mad."

Kyle rolls his eyes. "God, what did you do this time?"

"You gotta promise you won't be mad!"

"I'll be mad if I want to be mad!" says Kyle. "Just elaborate, goddammit!"

"Fine!" Eric shouts, throwing his hands up. "Jeez!" He pauses for a second before finally blurting it out. "It was Wendy."

 _"Wendy!?"_ Kyle exclaims. "Like _Stan's_ Wendy!?"

Eric nods, timidly. "Yeahhh..."

Kyle jumps to his feet and shoves him by the shoulders. "You fucking asshole! Why would you do that!? That's your friend's girlfriend! Even if they were broken up, that's a dick move, Cartman!" he yells.

Eric groans and rubs his forehead, tensely. "Oh boy, that's not even the worst part..."

Kyle glares up at him. His face is flushed and his eyes are smoldering. "What. Did. You. Do," Kyle spits through clenched teeth.

"I got her knocked up," Eric says, quickly, in a small, squeaky voice.

Kyle's expression is unreadable but he looks truly taken back by the words. "You did not," he says in disbelief. He's almost pleading. "Cartman, _please_ tell me you didn't." His breathing is quick and tremulous like he might have a panic attack at any moment.

"I'm sorry," Eric says, desperately. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Kyle closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, holding it for a minute before letting it out noisily through his nose. "So, what are you going to do now?" His voice is oddly calm but strained.

"Well, I mean, I guess I've been meaning to talk to you about that because, like, I think being a dad would be kinda cool," Eric says with a shrug. He's trying to be casual but his body language suggests that he's ready to flee the premises at any second. "So, like, do you wanna have a kid?"

Kyle erupts into laughter. He laughs and laughs and laughs until he's sounding hysterical. He leans against his bed post, and wipes tears from his eyes. "That's hilarious," he says, finally, in a dead serious voice. "I mean, I'm assuming you're joking."

Eric gulps. "Um... I wasn't but I can be if you want me to be?" He's very afraid for lots of reasons right now. He's afraid that Kyle has completely snapped at this point. He's afraid that he's about to get dumped. He's afraid of being a dad. He's afraid of _not_ being a dad. Everything is just pretty scary.

"You can't be serious," says Kyle.

"You never answered my question," says Eric.

"What? Do I want to have a _kid_ with you? Do I want to have _you and Wendy's actual physical child?_ Do I want to be a _dad_ to that child?" Kyle asks, glowering.

Eric bites his lip, nervously. "Uh... Uh-huh..."

"It's gonna have to be a hard pass," Kyle says, coldly.

"Listen, I know it's sudden and a little crazy but-"

"A _little?_ A little crazy?" says Kyle. He paces a few steps, running his hands through his curly, red hair. "You are the _most_ arrogant, irresponsible, self-centered asshole I have ever met in my entire life!" he exclaims, right up in Eric's face now. "Do you _ever_ think about anyone other than yourself?"

Eric huffs, indignantly. "Sometimes!" he says. "Look, it's not like I cheated on you or anything! I wasn't even dating you when me and Wendy-"

"I don't want to hear about it!" Kyle shouts. "Cartman, do you... Are you..." He's trying to formulate a sentence here but he's so angry that he can't make the proper syllables in his mouth. He makes wild hand gestures to try and get his point across before he can finally speak again. "I'm not even out to my parents yet!" he cries. "My own parents don't even know I'm bi or in a relationship and you want me to just be like 'oh here's the actual fucking infant that I'm apparently co-parenting with my gay boyfriend while I'm in college'. How do you think my parents would react to that?"

"What do your parents have to do with anything?" asks Eric.

"I'm just saying I didn't sign up for this!" Kyle yelps, tossing up his hands. "I mean, maybe the jokes on me for trusting _you_ in the first place!"

That stings. Eric takes a step back, hurt. "Christ, I know it sucks but you don't have to be a bitch about it," he says.

"You are unbelievable," Kyle spits. He shakes his head and turns, rummaging through his dresser drawer. "I can't do this."

"What are you doing?" Eric asks, furrowing his brow.

"Getting some clothes for tomorrow. I'm leaving," Kyle says, not looking back at him.

"What!? No!" Eric exclaims. "That's dumb as fuck! Where are you gonna go?" He tries to grab Kyle's shoulder but he shrugs him off, furiously.

"Don't fucking touch me. I don't know and I don't fucking care," Kyle growls. "I give up. I don't think we can make this work." He shoves a a couple of articles of clothing and some clean underwear into his backpack and then closes the dresser drawer with a slam before stomping to the bathroom and grabbing his toothbrush.

"Kyle," Eric pleads, following him to the door. "Don't fucking do this. Please."

Kyle turns back just for a second to glare at him. "I'm going to request a new roommate this week so don't touch any of my shit." He fumbles with the doorknob since his hands are shaking.

"Kyle," Eric says, his voice breaking a little. "Come on. I don't need a kid. I need you more than I need some hypothetical kid!" He blocks him from leaving by thrusting his big arm up in the doorway. "Come on! You can't fucking do this to me!"

"You're gonna stop me then?" Kyle asks with furious eyes.

"What do you want me to do!?" Eric shouts, tossing up his hands. He turns and runs his hands, anxiously, through his hair before turning back to Kyle, still standing, hatefully in the doorway. "I can't do this without you! Kyle, please, I l-"

"Don't say it! Don't you fucking say it," Kyle spits. His eyes are fierce and glistening and he's trembling slightly with a heaving chest. With that, the air between them is deathly still, like Eric dares not even breathe.

Finally, Kyle shakes his head. "Fuck off," he says, slamming the door in Eric's face.

Eric stands there for a long time, staring at the back of the door, lost in the brown grain of the wood. There is a feeling inside of him that he's never felt before. He feels like his insides are torn to shreds. He can't bring himself to move or blink or even think. His heart is pounding and it feels like his skin is on fire.

He's pretty sure he's officially Not Okay.

  
  



	11. The Deep End

Kyle wakes up to warm sunlight. He's in Stan's bed but Stan's not here right now. He hasn't been home but Kyle's been texting him and he told him he could crash in his dorm until things cooled down. Kyle's not sure how Stan is taking the recent turn of events but he knows that he, himself, isn't dealing with it too well. How are you supposed to take it when your boyfriend gets someone else pregnant? Not good, Kyle thinks.

He sits up and blinks at the brightness streaming in through the blinds and pushes back Stan's navy blue comforter, swinging his legs out of bed. He rubs his eyes. They're red and puffy but _definitely_ not because he cried himself to sleep. Kyle would _never. Especially_ not over Eric Cartman. That would be ridiculous.

Anyhow, Kyle is a strong, independent, self-sufficient Jewish boy who does NOT need a relationship. He does NOT need a boyfriend, especially not one with a baby on the way. And he absolutely, positively does NOT need Eric Freaking Cartman in his life right now.

However... The sex _was_ great and he's annoyingly attractive and really funny and charismatic and the thought of him makes Kyle's stomach do somersaults. How gay.

Kyle gets up and looks at himself in the mirror. His hair is a mess and is sticking up everywhere and stuck to the side of his face. He sighs. He regrets not bringing his special hairbrush when he Gone Girled out of his dorm room last night. He debates using Stan's roommate's hairbrush that's set out on his desk but he decides to be a good person and not do that. He suffices by running his fingers through and manually detangling it. It looks like shit but, hey. He makes do.

He has to pee but Stan's dorm doesn't have its own bathroom and he cannot be bothered to go the whole way down the hall so he decides that he doesn't have to go that bad. Instead, he checks his phone. He's had it on silent all night long and there's a whopping fourteen voicemails, twenty texts, and an actual email from Eric. It makes his stomach hurt. He frowns and dismisses them. It's not easy to ignore Eric. Kyle also realizes that it's not easy to ignore his bladder either and sighs as he heaves himself to his feet. He shoves his shoes on and reluctantly makes the trek to the only bathroom on the floor, at the end of the hall.

When he's done there, he figures he'll go on a quest for food and also to maybe find Stan. He could really use a feelings jam right about now. He stops back at Stan's dorm and changes out of his sweats and into a white v-neck, red flannel, and olive jeans and grabs his backpack with all his stuff in it and then heads down to his car.

He was worried that Eric might have been waiting for him somewhere where he knows he'll be but, to his surprise, he's nowhere to be seen. He doesn't know whether to be relieved or concerned. He decides on relieved since he is _not_ upset about breaking up with Eric. Not in the _slightest._ He is fine. He is healthy. He is emotionally capable. He is Kyle Motherfucking Broflovski and he is doing GREAT.

He only has one emotional crisis on his way to the McDonald's drive-thru. And, as fate might have it, after he gets his egg McMuffin and cinnamon cookie latte, he runs into Stan, who's walking back to his car in the parking lot. Kyle lays on the horn at him, almost startling him into dropping his coffee and takeout bag.

"Jesus," Stan says, coming to Kyle's driver's side window, "I could've dropped my croissant."

"I was just going to call you and see if you wanted to hang out," Kyle says.

"Yeah, sure," Stan says. "Did you take up my offer to sleep at my place last night?"

Kyle nods. "Yeah, I was gonna sleep on the floor but you never showed up so I slept in your bed."

"That's fine," says Stan. "I spent the night with Wendy."

Kyle gives him a strange look. "Really?"

Stan shrugs. "She needs my support right now and I love her so I'm going to be there for her as much as she needs me," he says. "Plus, like... sex."

"But she's pregnant." It makes Kyle a little ill to say, remembering how she got that way.

"Dude, you can't even tell. Feels the same to me."

Kyle narrows his eyes. "Okay." He's not sure how Stan is handling this all so well. It almost makes him feel like he's a bad person for leaving Eric during all this. But, whatever, he's still mad. "Well, what do you want to do today, then?"

"You look like you need a feelings jam," Stan says, observantly.

Kyle gives him a little nod. "It couldn't hurt. Did you wanna meet me somewhere?"

"I'll ride with you if that's okay. I walked here from Wendy's apartment," says Stan. "She and Bebe are having a day."

"A day?"

"Yeah, I think that's what girls say when they want you to leave them alone so they can talk. Also, I think there's brunch and shopping involved." Stan is pretty clueless when it comes to women. "Maybe we should have a day."

Kyle snorts. "Yeah, okay, we'll make it a day."

"Boy's Day," says Stan.

"Shut up and get in the car."

Boy's Day ends up consisting of the two of them hanging out in Stan's dorm room, eating vending machine snacks and playing video games all day. At the end of it all, though, in the late afternoon, Stan's strumming a Counting Crows song on his acoustic guitar and Kyle is messing around with an old, electric bass.

Kyle had picked up bass guitar in high school, mostly because Stan wanted somebody to jam with but also for the sheer absurdity of it. There was no real reason for it except for that the image of him playing some crunchy bass riffs was really really funny. Something silly to pull out at parties at Stan's house. They did play a couple of informal gigs together in the old days, though.

Right now, Kyle isn't quite sure he can remember how to play. He's absently thumbing the G string when something comes to him.

"Wait, I've got it. I've got it," he says and proceeds to play the intro to Animal I Have Become by Three Day's Grace.

Stan answers with uproarious laughter. They tend to make fun of a lot of alternative songs that they used to listen to, unironically, in high school. Three Day's Grace had been Stan's favorite band at one point but now they both cringe a little bit because of it.

Kyle looks down at the strings, a little pensive. Eric would have found that really funny.

"Play the Seinfeld thing," Stan suggests, breaking Kyle from his thoughts.

"Oh, shit, that's hard," Kyle says. Despite butchering several of the notes, he plays a pretty close rendition of the Seinfeld bass riff. He used to play it all the time, especially when Eric or Kenny would walk in or out of a room. Eric would usually get annoyed but Kenny would play along and act like he was in a sitcom. He had probably never seen an episode of Seinfeld in his life but he had the spirit. It makes Kyle's heart hurt a little bit when he thinks about it.

Stan must have been thinking the same thing because he says "Man, I miss Kenny."

Kyle nods, solemnly. "Yeah, me too."

Stan leans back, onto the floor, with a sigh. "You know, you're gonna miss Cartman too."

Kyle glares at him. "He's not _dead,_ he's just an asshole," he snarks.

"Yeah, but you're still gonna miss him if you don't make up with him," Stan says, counting the tiles on the ceiling. "Not saying you have to date him again but, like, you should probably not _completely_ ostracize him from the group."

"Ostracize," Kyle repeats, a little mockingly. "Please. He gets what he gets. He fucked things up and I'm not, like... I can't... Ugh." He falls back as well, next to Stan. "It sucks."

Stan shrugs. "It's not ideal, no. But it is what it is, I guess."

"How are you so okay with all of this?"

"I dunno. I just am. It's still Wendy. It's not like she did it on purpose. I mean the sex thing, yeah, that sucks but I can't really blame her, I guess. It's her life and I'm just glad to be a part of it." He glances over at Kyle. "That's pretty lame, huh?"

"Most things you say are lame, yeah," says Kyle. "Do you think things are ever going to be able to be normal again? Because they were pretty good there for a couple of weeks."

"I don't know," Stan says. "It depends on what Wendy decides to do, I suppose. If she ends up keeping it and then, you know, we all end up being parents or something, then no. That's not normal. If she gets an abortion then... I'm not really sure. That'll probably suck for a little bit too. There's no easy out this time, I don't think."

Kyle swallows. "Yeah." He's quiet for a while and, eventually, Stan speaks again to snap him out of it.

"It's gonna be okay, though. Weirder things have happened."

Kyle gives him a look. "You're weirdly optimistic today."

Stan cracks a grin. "That's just my sage wisdom for the day."

"More like for the week," Kyle says, sitting up, kicking him gently with the side of his foot.

"I'm just saying, though, maybe talk to Cartman again sometime. Wendy needs me and I'm sure he needs you," says Stan. "Wendy says he's freaking out about this."

Kyle groans. "That's fucking... You're... No. He doesn't need me. He needs to see a therapist or something."

"I'm pretty sure he already does. Or he did, didn't he?"

"He did. I don't think he does anymore. He probably should. He's..." He takes a sharp inhale. "I don't think he's doing great." Talking about Eric is making Kyle really anxious for some reason. "Ah, I'm gonna go. I'm gonna grab something to eat and then sleep in my car or something."

Stan sits up. "You can sleep here again, if you want. I'm probably going to go to Wendy's place again tonight. Hey, or you could probably crash on their couch."

Kyle shakes his head. "Nah, I'm good. Thanks, though. I think I need some time alone to... to think about everything. I might take a drive or something. I don't know. I need to clear my head." He feels bad about it but he doesn't really want to be around Wendy right now. He's not angry with her but he really doesn't think he could be in a room with her without having a panic attack.

Stan nods. "Alright, man. You do you. You know where to find me if you need me."

Kyle hoists himself to his feet and smooths down his shirt. "Right, um, I'll see you later," he says. He grabs his backpack off the floor and slings it up over his shoulder.

"See ya," says Stan, giving him a wave as he watches him leave.

Kyle shuts the door behind him and lets out a heavy sigh. He's beginning to feel emotionally drained. Talking about his feelings is exhausting. This is exactly why he hates psychology class. He hurries down to his car, a black 2014 Chevy Impala, locking himself inside. He rubs his temples, warding off an oncoming headache. For good measure, he fishes a couple of ibuprofen out of his backpack and washes them down with a sip of a lukewarm, half-empty bottle of water. He takes a moment to clean his glasses with his shirt before backing out of the parking lot and heading for the highway.

He's not sure where he's planning on getting food today, but in all honesty he's not really that hungry. Mostly, he just wants to drive. He likes driving. It calms him down or something like that. He's not really the calm type but he's the closest to calm when he's driving alone at night. It's not quite night yet but it's the golden hour when the evanescent sunlight makes everything look warm and bright.

He's thinking about a lot of things but mostly about Eric. Some of his feelings of anger are turning to feelings of guilt and he hates it. He wants to be mad. He wants to feel all riled up and pissed off. He knows that's how he _should_ be angry, and he is, but some of the things Stan said to him today are nagging at the back of his mind. _Does_ Eric really need him? _Should_ he be there for him right now? He doesn't know for sure but the conflict is killing him. He decides just to stay angry. For now, at least. Being angry is easier. Unfortunately, that anger is still mixed with feelings of remorse and hurt and fear. Maybe tomorrow he'll initiate a productive conversation about his feelings but, right now, he's decided not to forgive nor forget.

He drives until the sky is turning lavender and then he pulls into a Subway parking lot. He's not even sure he actually wants Subway but he figures it's better than nothing and he's got to eat or else he's going to have low blood sugar. His childhood diabetes is well managed now so he doesn't have to do insulin injections anymore but he still gets sick if his sugar gets too high or too low.

His phone vibrates from the floor of the passenger's side where it's fallen during the drive. He reaches over and grabs it, looking at the caller ID. It's Eric. He swallows but rolls his eyes and denies the call.

Meanwhile, back in their dorm room, Eric throws his phone across the room and it whacks against the wall before falling on his bed. He paces around the room for a few laps, running his hands through his hair. It's been far too long since he's slept or eaten and he looks like a crazy person. He feels like one too. He's officially gone off the deep end, he thinks.

His wide chest heaves and his eyes dart around the room like a wild animal. The place is pretty trashed. In a panic fueled episode last night he's ripped all the sheets and blankets off of his bed and he's also broken a lamp. There are cigarette butts and ashes on the hardwood floor from when he couldn't be bothered to go outside and chain smoke.

He flops down on his bare mattress and stares up at the ceiling. He picks his phone up and examines it. Not a scratch on the thing. Surprising.

He lays there feeling sorry for himself for a minute. He's feeling quite a few things, actually. He's feeling hurt and angry and sad and bitter and tired and hungry and horny and anxious and manic and it feels like there's nothing he can do about any of it. Plus, he's almost out of Xanax!

But then he gets an idea. He glances from Kyle's empty bed and then to his phone, kind of cocking an eyebrow as the gears in his mind begin to turn. Yep, he thinks, this is a good idea. No way this can backfire on him at all.

He scrolls through the contacts on his phone. The screen looks a little distorted so maybe it did take some damage from being thrown at a wall. Whatever.

He hesitates but gets over it and presses the call button when he finds who he's looking for. It only rings once.

_"Hi, Eric!"_

"Hey, Butters, what are you doing tonight?"

  
  



	12. Bleach Blonde

Eric cleans up nicely. After a shower and a shave and a change of clothes you would never be able to guess that he was just having a mental breakdown. He checks himself out in the mirror before he leaves.

He's in a black v-neck t-shirt underneath his red varsity jacket with black skinny jeans and white high top sneakers. The only thing that gives away the fact that he's not doing the best tonight are the dark circles under his dichromatic eyes. As a kid, he was kind of embarrassed to have heterochromia since little kids are mean and pick on anyone for anything. Now, though, he's glad that one is golden brown and the other is steely blue. They make him stand out. No one forgets Eric Cartman.

He adds a little pomade to his hair, running through it with his fingers, styling it so that it kicks up in the front. Killer.

Just for added edginess, he clips a pair of mirrored shades on the collar of his shirt. He traces the prickly hair along his jawline with his thumb and slicks down his perfect eyebrows and he is ready to go.

Butters is already outside in his car, waiting in the parking lot for him. He drives a pale yellow Volkswagen beetle with star accents along the sides that make Eric roll his eyes every time he sees them. He lets himself in the passenger side.

"Hey there, Eric," Butters says. He eyes Eric up and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards, coyly. "You look handsome tonight! I mean, you look handsome every night but tonight especially!"

Eric suppresses the urge to scoff. "Thanks, Butters. You look nice too."

He does and Butters knows he does. He's wearing a holographic jacket over a mesh rainbow crop top, the shortest of shorts, pink thigh high socks, and baby blue platform combat boots.

Butters has definitely been gender nonconforming since freshman year of high school when he showed up on the first day in a plaid miniskirt. Ever since then, his style has evolved into the cuteness overload it has become.

"I think you called me the Queen of the Femboys once," Butters says with a smirk, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye as he puts his car into gear.

Eric laughs. "Yeah, I probably did. You're super kawaii or whatever." He gestures to the Hello Kitty stickers on the dashboard.

Butters lets out a quiet giggle. "You know, Eric, I'm really glad you called me."

Eric swallows and looks out the window. It's getting dark out and the horizon is a deep purple. "Yeah," he says.

"I thought you were seeing somebody?"

Eric's heart rate picks up and he chews on his bottom lip. "I was but, uh, it didn't work out."

"That's too bad," Butters says. He glances at him again. "Was it Kyle?"

It's Eric's first instinct to deny it but he fesses up, instead. He's never been good at lying to Butters for whatever reason. They used to be really close. "Yeah, it was." There's a twinge of anger and hurt rising in his chest. "He dumped me, though, the fuckin' bitch." He tries to laugh it off but it comes out sounding fake.

Butters gives him an apologetic look but keeps on driving. He lives in a queer housing program off campus. Eric's been there many times before. It's a cool place to hang out, especially if you're LGBT. Everyone is super chill and accepting and it feels like a real community. Butters has a whole bunch of housemates and it seems like they're having a small party when Butters pulls into the driveway.

"We're partying all weekend," Butters says, unlocking the car doors. "One of my roommates is transferring to Utah State this week so it's kind of her bon voyage."

"Oh, cool," Eric says. He doesn't really feel like partying but, if there's alcohol and music he's probably in.

"We can just go up to my room and hang out, if you want," Butters proposes, leading Eric into the house by his arm.

Eric can't tell if he means it suggestively or just out of kindness but he nods in agreement. "Yeah, okay."

Inside, it's dimly lit but there are all kinds of crazy LEDs all over the place. Fairy lights and paper lanterns too. There's a Troye Sivan song playing loudly over some Bluetooth speakers so he can barely hear as Butters pulls him along.

It's an old house, going back through generations of fraternities until it eventually came into the hands of the university LGBT group. It's changed a lot from when it was originally built but it still has that old house smell. It smells a lot like the house Eric grew up in, actually. He can't tell if it's a comforting scent or if it puts him on edge.

He recognizes a lot of people there and some wave, including some kids from his high school. In particular, he shoots a peace sign up at Craig Tucker who gives him a nod of acknowledgment from where he's hanging out near the punch bowl. He thinks he might see the back of Clyde Donovan's head and he considers saying hello but he's not sure if it's him or not and he doesn't care enough to find out.

Once through the crowd, Butters skips giddily up the stairs and Eric follows. Butters' room is at the very top of the house, in the attic. The walls are pastel pink and lined with posters and the floor is covered in a fuzzy white rug. Butters shuts the door behind them and hits a remote that turns on some mood lighting and quiet music. From up here, the party sounds muffled and far away. It's relaxing, almost.

Eric sits down in a soft desk chair and swivels idly as Butters procures a couple of cans of hard lemonade from his closet. He tosses one to Eric.

"Sorry they're warm," Butters says. "I have to keep my alcohol up here or somebody else always drinks it."

"S'cool," Eric says, popping the tab and taking a prolonged sip.

"So, how've you been?" Butters asks, sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking up at him from behind his long, pale eyelashes. He's kind of cute with his round cheeks and big blue eyes. His eyelids are painted metallic silver and his lips are plump and pink.

Eric sighs. He doesn't want to explain the details of the last few days to Butters right now and he's not sure if he can trust him to keep it to himself, anyhow. Butters is pretty gabby, especially when he's drinking. _And_ there are people he _knows_ downstairs. "Oh, you know. Things haven't been the greatest."

Butters frowns. "Is it because of Kyle?"

Eric tenses his jaw. "More or less." He rubs his forehead, leaning back in the chair. "There's probably something mean I could say about him to make myself feel better but, honestly, I'm too tired for that." He really is exhausted. He's actually debating asking Butters if it's cool if he takes a quick nap but, by that point, Butters is already sitting up on his knees with his hands on Eric's legs. Eric looks down at him and gulps. "Oh. Hi."

Butters blinks, demurely. "I can try to make you feel better," he says in a soft voice.

Eric breaks out into a sweat and he's not sure why. This is why he called Butters in the first place, isn't it? To get laid? To make Kyle jealous? To take his mind off of the current events for a few minutes? Then why is he hesitating? "Um," he says, nervously, "okay."

Then Butters is in his lap with his arms around his neck, kissing him. Eric makes a mental note that he's going to have to wipe his pearly pink lip gloss off before he leaves but, he kisses back. Butters is a good kisser. He's gentle and seductive. Unlike KYLE. Stupid Kyle. Kyle kisses hard and hungrily. And he's pointy. All parts of him are sharp and angular. Not like Butters. Butters is soft.

Eric tells himself to stop thinking about Kyle and start thinking about the fact that Butters has a tongue piercing. He can feel the small metal ball roll against his lips as Butters kisses him. It's actually pretty hot and Eric can't help but get a little hard when Butters grinds his ass against his crotch.

Eric lets out a small moan against Butters' lips as he works at the fly of his jeans, giving him one last ardent kiss before dropping down between his knees.

"Fuck," Eric mutters as Butters unzips his pants and lets his dick spring free. Immediately, Butters takes his balls in his mouth and sucks enthusiastically for a moment, something _Kyle_ has sworn he would never do, before stopping and running his lips languidly up the shaft of his cock. When he reaches the head, he takes his tongue and toys at the slit with his piercing.

Eric's grip on the arms of the chair tighten and he lets out a short gasp. "Mmh," he murmurs as his cock twitches.

Butters lets out a quiet laugh against his length and then draws him fully into his mouth, bobbing his head quickly.

Eric blames it on the stupid fucking tongue piercing but he's actually already getting kind of close. His breathing hitches and his hips buck upwards. He closes his eyes and brings his hand down to run his fingers through Kyle's hair and-

He means _Butters'_ hair.

Butters.

Not Kyle.

This is Butters.

Kyle dumped him.

Butters is the one sucking his dick right now.

_Butters is the one sucking his dick right now._

_**This Is Not Kyle.**_

"Wait!" Eric exclaims, going soft instantly, his eyes snapping open. "Wait, wait, wait!"

Butters pulls back and looks up at him with a quirked eyebrow, leaving a shimmery trail of drool. "Huh? You okay, Eric?"

"No," says Eric, jumping to his feet and hastily pulling his pants back up. "No no no no no. We gotta... I gotta... I can't fucking do this! Fucking shit tits Christ balls ass god fuck piss damn Jesus bitch _fuck_ ," he curses, fumbling with his belt buckle, pushing past Butters and bolting out the door.

He's pretty quick on his feet for a big guy and he's outside on the front lawn, pacing back and forth, in thirty seconds flat. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck," he mutters, frantically trying to get his lighter to work so he can smoke a damn cigarette and maybe calm down a little bit but he's low on lighter fluid and his hands are trembling too much to flick the flint successfully.

"Eric!" Butters cries, rushing out after him. "What's the matter? Are you okay?" He touches his arm gingerly but Eric pulls away.

"No, no, fuck, I'm not okay," Eric says, shaking his head. "I gotta get outta here."

"Well, let me drive you home, then," Butters says, unlocking his car doors with his key fob from across the yard. "C'mon."

Once they're both inside Butters' car, Eric is still shaking. He's finally managed to get his cigarette to light and he's got the window cracked, taking deep puffs to hopefully calm his nerves.

"Can you take the long way back?" Eric asks as Butters backs out of the driveway.

"Yeah, sure, Eric. Can you tell me what's going on?" Butters asks, watching him with a concerned expression out of the corner of his eye.

"Fuck, I fucking fucked up," Eric cries, almost sobbing. "Christ, my life is pretty much over."

"Eric, what _happened?"_

"You gotta promise you'll keep it to yourself," Eric mutters, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Of course!" says Butters.

"Okay, so, listen, Wendy and Stan broke up, I fucked Wendy, me 'n Kyle started dating, Wendy got back together with Stan, everything's peachy fucking keen, right?"

"I'm gonna guess it's not," Butters says with a frown.

"It's not! I got Wendy pregnant and now she's got my fucking demon spawn inside her and Stan's probably gonna kick my ass and Kyle broke up with me and then I was gonna fuck _you_ and either Wendy's gonna get an abortion or I've gotta be a dad and Kyle doesn't want kids and everything sucks!" Eric rants.

Butters is pretty bug-eyed. "Well, gosh, Eric!" he exclaims. "What are you gonna do?"

"I don't _know_ what the hell I'm gonna do, _Butters!_ " Eric spits. "That's why it's fucking bullshit!"

Butters sighs. "Gee, I'm sorry."

They don't say anything else for a while and Eric stares out the window at the night. It's after ten PM and the stars are out and the moon is full. Campus isn't in the city so the sky is mostly free from light pollution and the sky looks vast and endless as they approach an overpass.

"Stop the car," Eric says suddenly, grabbing onto Butters' arm. "Stop the fucking car, Butters, or I'm gonna freak the fuck out!"

Butters instinctively slams on the breaks and pulls off onto the side of the road into a patch of gravel and grass. "Huh? What's wrong?"

Eric hastily gets out of the car and walks down the bike lane, along the guardrail that looks out over the highway beneath them. Butters gets out as well but stands near his car, crossing his arms against the frigid air.

"Butters, listen," Eric says in a gruff, strained voice. "Don't call the cops. If you call the cops I'm gonna kick your fucking ass." He points a finger at him accusingly.

Butters looks horrified. "Eric! What are you doing?"

At this point, Eric has one leg swung over the guardrail. He turns back to give Butters a look of disbelief. "Uh, what the fuck does it _look_ like? I'm gonna fucking kill myself or something." He brings his other leg over so he's standing, facing out at the world, and the night, and the streetlights below, his back to the cold steel that he's holding onto with his hands.

"Oh, Jesus Christ!" Butters yelps. "Eric, _please_ get back in the car!"

"I can't!" Eric shouts back. "I have nothing left to live for!" He has plenty left to live for but sometimes it can be hard to see that when you've got a personality disorder.

Eric looks down at the highway. It's a decent drop, especially lethal if he happens to fall into the path of a semi or something. He gulps. His fingers instinctively grip the guardrail and tears sting his eyes. He misses Kyle. He misses Wendy. He misses Stan. He misses Kenny. He misses how things were before any of this happened and he feels trapped in a reality he doesn't want to be in. Tears sting at his eyes. He blames them on the freezing wind. "This is it, Butters," he says.

"Oh biscuits," Butters mutters to himself, wringing his hands nervously. "What am I gonna do?"

  
  



	13. The Moon and The Stars

It's getting cold out as the moon rises higher in the sky. It's been almost twenty minutes since Eric stepped over the guardrail overlooking the desolate highway. He's been trying to muster up the courage (or lack thereof) to fling himself dramatically over the edge to land on the street in a smattering of blood and gore. He's not quite there yet. Right now he's sitting on the ledge with his feet dangling over the side, smoking a cigarette and looking down, bleakly, at the cars passing below. He's glad nobody down there can really see him up here. The last thing he wants is for the authorities to be called and for him to end up being Baker Acted. Again. It wouldn't be the first time. He's made a pledge to never go back to a psych ward.

Although, it probably wouldn't be a bad idea considering his current predicament.

Butters is still nearby, pacing frantically, tapping at his phone, pausing periodically to run his fingers through his pale, blonde hair.

"Butters, just go home already!" Eric shouts, not having to look up to know that he's there. "I told you to just leave me here so I can either kill myself or walk home."

"I can't do that!" Butters wails. "Eric, you need some help."

Eric whips his head around to glare at him. "I do _not_ need help! Especially not _your_ help! Just go back to your gay little party at your gay little house!" He flicks the last little bit of his cigarette away and it falls down onto the highway, trailing smoke and embers behind it.

Butters frowns and opens his mouth to respond when a little white car pulls up, quickly, and parks in the gravel area behind Butters' Volkswagen.

"Oh, thank god," Butters sighs with relief.

Eric knits his eyebrows together, pulling himself back up to his feet. "Butters, who the _fuck_ did you call?"

Before he can answer, Wendy gets out of the driver's seat and Stan from the passenger's. Wendy looks pissed. Her eyes are bright and shining and her nostrils are flared.

"Eric!" she cries, fuming. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing!?"  
Eric rolls his eyes and groans. "None of your fucking business!"

"It most certainly _is_ my business!" Wendy snaps. She storms towards him but he backs away as if threatening to jump so she stops in her tracks.

"Whoa, back off," Eric says in a low, tremulous voice.

"Eric," she says, sternly. "Come back over the railing."

"Don't you fucking get it?" Eric asks. "I'm not gonna come back over the railing." He sounds grim and hopeless. He sighs and looks down again.

Wendy's bottom lip quivers but only for a minute. "Eric Cartman," she says, "How _dare_ you."

The anger in her voice is startling and Eric looks up. "Huh?"

"How _dare_ you try and bail on me now," she snarls. "You don't get to do this! You don't get to take the easy way out! If I have to deal with this shit then so do you!"

Eric is a little taken back but he shakes his head. "I can't do it, Wendy. I can't fucking do it."

"Is it Kyle?" Wendy asks. She knows all about Eric's BPD. She's studied it in class, even. She can't imagine the hurt he's feeling right now but she needs to try to help him, regardless.

Eric doesn't say anything but the strangled sob he makes in his throat is enough of a giveaway.

"I know it hurts," Wendy says, softer, inching her way closer to him, carefully. "But maybe things will get better if you just come back from the railing and see for yourself. Maybe you guys will get back together. And, if you don't, then it's no big deal because you still have _me,"_ she says. "And Stan. And Bebe. And-" she looks, hesitantly, back at Butters who's a weepy, panicky mess, "Butters, apparently," she says, slowly, with a frown, narrowing her eyes.

"Stan doesn't want to kick my ass?" Eric asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"No, dude, he's fine," says Wendy. "Right Stan?"

Stan nods, taking a few steps forward. He looks like he just woke up. He probably did. His hair is messy and his eyes are sleepy. "Cartman, its cool, man. We'll make it work. I'm not mad at you, don't worry."

Wendy leans in cups her hands around her lips so only Eric can see her mouth the word "cuck." She doesn't really think that but figures it'll make Eric laugh and it does, a little bit.

"What was that?" Stan asks, scrunching up his nose.

"Nothing!" says Wendy.

Stan scoffs. "At least dogs like me."

Eric sighs, resigning himself back to misery, looking down at the sporadic patches of grass growing along the side of the road. "It just sucks, you know?"

Wendy purses her lips and nods, apologetically. "Yeah, I do. I do know."

Eric lets out another, long, despondent sigh. It feels like half the breaths he takes these days end as sighs. It turns to clouds in front of his lips, in the cold air. "I can't..." He isn't quite sure what he wants to say. He doesn't get a chance to say anything, either, because a familiar black 2014 Chevy Impala whips into the gravel, slamming on it's brakes.

Kyle jumps out of the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him, and Eric feels like he might throw up.

"Cartman!" Kyle shouts. His voice is an equal mix of anger, fear, and worry.

"Oh, Christ," Eric says to himself, chewing anxiously on his bottom lip. "Butters! You called _Kyle_ too!?" he yells, across the road.

"I-I didn't know what else to do!" Butters cries, nervously picking at his cuticles.

Eric rolls his eyes. "Un-fucking-believable."

Kyle jogs over, next to Wendy. His jaw is clenched and his cheeks are flushed. His shoulders rise and fall with his breath and his green eyes glisten in the night, almost glowing in the moonlight. "Cartman," he says, again, in a low, threateningly even voice. "Get back over here." He turns to Wendy for a second. "Is he okay?"

Wendy hesitates but nods. "More or less."

"I can answer for my damn self!" Eric says. A gust of wind whips his jacket around him and he shivers.

Kyle crosses his arms. "Fine. Are you?" he asks, coldly. He glares at him over the rim of his glasses.

Eric gulps and turns away from him, watching the cars below instead. "Fuck off. I'm not answering you."

Kyle huffs and paces in a circle, running his hands through his curls. "Fuck, Cartman, what are you even trying to do?" He pinches the bridge of his nose and inhales sharply.

"Kill myself, obviously!" Eric snaps. "Go away!"

"I'm not gonna fucking leave you out here, idiot!" says Kyle, in annoyance. "What kind of asshole do you think I am?"

Eric shoots a look at him over his shoulder. "Why not? You left me once already," he says in a hurt, spiteful tone.

Kyle rubs the back of his neck, pensively. "That doesn't mean I want you to kill yourself!" He groans quietly. "Listen, Cartman, I was mad. I still am! I'm fucking pissed!"

"Kyle," Wendy hisses under her breath, "you're not helping."

"Well!" Kyle exclaims, throwing his hands in the air, pacing again. "What do you want me to say!?" He looks at Eric with serious, sincere eyes. "Look, I came out here because I'm obviously fucking worried about you and if you kill yourself I'm..." He swallows. "Just don't do it, okay?" He rubs his eyes, tiredly. "Oh, goddammit, Cartman."

Eric tries to get a read on him by his expression and squints at him in the yellow light of the streetlamp. "I don't know if I can trust you, Jew," he spits the last part just for good measure.

"You don't know if you can trust _me?_ I don't know if I can trust _you!"_ Kyle blurts out. "I never trusted you and then, as soon as I did, _this_ happened."

"Well, you can," Eric snaps. "You can now, at least. I know I fucked up. I ruined everything and I know that. I know I'm a screw-up."

"You're not a screw-up," says Kyle. "I mean, you are, generally speaking, but, like, not because of this."

"Gee, thanks," Eric says, frowning. He shakes his head. "Just go home, Kyle."

"I'm not going anywhere unless you're coming with me," Kyle states, adamantly. He plants his hands firmly on his hips. "Can I get closer to you or are you gonna freak out and throw yourself over the ledge?"

"Try it and find out," Eric suggests.

Kyle stares at him for a second but, eventually, takes a few strides across the street and leans forward against the guardrail, resting on his forearms. Eric doesn't fling himself to his death but he sits down, again, letting his feet hang there in the air.

"If you kill yourself I'll never forgive you," Kyle says in a quiet voice. He exhales noisily through his nose. "You can't do that to me."

It strikes Eric that the last part is almost word for word what he said to Kyle when he was leaving him. It aches in his chest. He's silent and he leans his head back against the railing.

"I'm serious," says Kyle. "I care about you."

Eric glances up at him, quickly, and then back down. "Jew, that's gay."

"Yeah, no shit," Kyle says, rolling his eyes. "You're gonna freeze to death out here. Will you let me take you home? If you care about me at all, you'll let me take you home."

Eric makes an uncertain noise. "Maybe. If you promise you won't try and kick my ass."

Kyle breathes a laugh. "We'll see," he says.

Eric snorts, pulling himself up on the railing. However, when he does, he steps too far back with his left foot and loses his balance, falling back with a short cry.

"Oh my god," Wendy gasps, her hands shooting to her mouth. Stan steps forward and Butters yelps loudly.

Luckily, Kyle is quick enough to reach out and grab Eric, tightly, by his outstretched hand.

They are perfectly still for a moment, Eric leaning with his back against the openness of the air beneath him, and Kyle holding his hand with a white knuckled grip, staring at each other with wide, horrified eyes.

"I-I-" Eric stammers, his heart racing from his near-death experience.

Just as suddenly as he started to fall, Kyle yanks him forward, wrapping his arms, unshakably, around him, holding him steadily, over the guardrail. "Oh my fucking god, dude," he mutters, breathlessly, against Eric's shoulder.

"Holy shit," says Eric, letting out a quivering breath, into Kyle's hair. " Uh, Kyle, I think I want to get out of here."

Kyle nods, helping him over the railing. He doesn't let go once he is solidly on the ground next to him, though. "I've got you," he says, noticing that Eric is still holding onto his flannel shirt sleeve, tightly.

"My life just flashed before my eyes," Eric says, shivering violently.

"Your life just flashed before _my_ eyes too," Kyle says. He hesitates a minute, pursing his lips, but reaches out and takes Eric's hand, holding it firmly. It's freezing cold. "Come on, let's go home."

Eric looks down at him, a little startled, and nods wordlessly.

Kyle leads him across the street, towards Stan and Wendy.

Eric clears his throat. "Uh, sorry for making y'all come out here in the middle of the night," he says, quietly, staring down at his feet.

Wendy shakes her head and touches him gingerly on the arm. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"Yeah, thank god," says Stan. He turns to Wendy. "Can we go home now?"

She nods. "Yeah, okay. You got it from here, Kyle?"

"Uh-huh," says Kyle. He tugs Eric along by his hand. "C'mon."

"Hold on," Eric says after giving Stan and Wendy a half-hearted wave as they got back into Wendy's car. "I forgot my smokes in Butters' car." He lets go of Kyle's hand and detours over to Butters. He's leaning against the side of his beetle with his hands in his jacket pockets. "Hey, sorry about tonight," Eric says to him.

"Oh, uh, don't worry about it, Eric," Butters says, sheepishly. He crosses one arm across his chest and chews on the thumbnail of his other hand, anxiously. "J-just glad you're okay."

"Yeah, yeah," Eric says, reaching in through the driver's side door, grabbing his Marlboros off of the center console. He sticks one in his mouth and then whacks Butters' lightheartedly upside the head. "Thanks, Butters."

Butters giggles nervously. "Y-yeah, no problem, Eric."

Kyle yanks on Eric's jacket sleeve, pulling him away, towards his car. "Come on, dickhead," he says, making a point not to look Butters in the eyes.

"Jealous again?" Eric taunts, climbing into the passenger's side door.

Kyle glares at him, buckling his seat belt and turning up the heat. "Don't start."

Eric shrugs. "You don't have _that_ much of a reason to get jealous this time. You broke up with me so I think that makes us even." He lights his cigarette and cracks the window a bit. He smokes it quickly, though, and, by the time Kyle's got the car going, it's pretty much out and he flicks it out the window and seals it back up.

"Hah!" Kyle barks, pulling out of the gravel and back onto the road, doing a dexterous u-turn and heading back towards campus. "I think me breaking up with you made us even for you getting my best friend's girlfriend pregnant."

Eric rolls his eyes. "Oh _that_ again."

"Yes, that again!" Kyle yelps. "We're not just going to stop talking about it just because you tried to kill yourself or whatever! I'm not gonna just _forget_ about it! It's still a very real issue in our lives, currently."

"I know, I know," Eric sighs, pressing the side of his face up against the window. "Wishful thinking."

Kyle lets out a long, noisy breath, not taking his eyes off the road. His hands are gripped unnecessarily tight on the steering wheel. "You know, this was really fucking stupid."

"Ugh, I know. Cringe," Eric says, sarcastically. He _is_ cringing a little about it, inside, though. Overreacting due to BPD can be really embarrassing in hindsight.

"I mean it," says Kyle. "What the fuck were you even thinking?"

"Um, that I was gonna kill myself? What kind of dumbass question is that?"

Kyle scoffs. "No, I mean, like, why would you do that in the first place?" He says it kind of testily but there's a twinge of worry in his voice. He knows all about Eric's mental illnesses. He's talked him through numerous panic attacks and he knows for a fact that tonight wasn't his first time being suicidal. Kyle, although he has his own issues with anxiety, doesn't really understand what it's like to want to die and, frankly, the thought of somebody he cares about feeling that way scares him to death.

Eric shrugs again. "I dunno. Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"You really scared me," Kyle says, sounding much smaller than he anticipated.

"I scared myself," says Eric. He stares out the window at the passing street lights. "So, you really would have cared if I did it?"

"Are you serious? Of course I would have cared!" Kyle exclaims. He glances at Eric out of the corner of his eye. "How can you even think I wouldn't care?"

Eric shakes his head and chews on the inside of his cheek. "I don't know. I thought that maybe you hated me now."

Kyle is quiet for a while. He pulls into the parking lot of their dorm, picking a space and stopping. "I don't hate you," he says, finally. Turning off the engine. "I'm angry at you, though, and I don't know how to stop being angry at you. I would if I could but I don't know how."

Eric wipes his nose on his sleeve. He's starting to feel teary and he hates it. "Yeah, I know. It's okay."

Kyle sighs. "We can talk about it. I want to talk to you about it."

"Right now?" Eric asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"Upstairs," Kyle says, nodding towards their building.

"Oh, okay,"

They get out and Kyle heads inside first with Eric tagging along behind him.

"Did you request a new roommate yet?" Eric asks, lingering back as Kyle unlocks their door.

"No," says Kyle. "I didn't get around to it. I don't know if I will. It depends." He turns on the lights and locks the door behind them.

Eric takes his coat off and throws it on the back of his desk chair, kicking his shoes into the corner. He sits down on the end of his bed. "So, like, what did you want to talk about."

"Us, I guess," Kyle says, hanging his jacket on the doorknob and placing his shoes neatly by the door. He sits down next to him on the bed. "I really..." He pauses for a second, thinking. "I really liked what we had. You know, before all this."

"Me too," Eric says.

"And I want us to go back to that..."

"But?" Eric prompts, sensing Kyle's hesitation.

"But I'm worried it won't be the same." Kyle stares down at his feet. He swallows. "And I know it's okay if it's not the same. Sometimes it's not bad, just different. But I just don't know if I'm ready for what you are bringing with you." He exhales. "I mean, shit, Cartman, it's a _kid._ A living, breathing human being."

"I know," Eric says, slowly. "I need to talk to Wendy about what's going on with that. Not tonight, but I need to talk to her."

"Is this really what you want?" Kyle asks. "I mean, I'm not asking you to choose between me and your hypothetical child. Or me and Wendy, even. But, I just want to know reasoning because I can't figure you out. You always do the exact opposite of what I'm expecting you to do. It's what you've always done but it's really apparent now."

"I just want to be better than what I got as a kid," Eric says after a long silence. "I'm not stoked about the timing or circumstance but, like, hey. I can't be a piece of garbage forever. Eventually I've gotta grow up, right? But, you know, I'd choose you anyways."

"You would?" Kyle asks. He purses his lips and doesn't look up at him.

"Yeah," says Eric. He's quiet for a little while. "Do you think I'm a bad person?"

The question really strikes Kyle and he thinks long and hard about it. "I think," he says, finally, "that you're really trying to be a better person." He looks up at him, studying his face. He's already committed every dimple and freckle and mole to memory. "That counts for something. I actually think it's more important than being an inherently good person."

"You think so? Even though I hurt you?"

"I do," says Kyle. He sighs and it almost sounds like a laugh. "As angry as you make me, I don't think you're really a bad person. Not anymore."

"I think you might be a masochist, then," Eric suggests. It's meant to be lighthearted but it sounds a little bleak.

Kyle frowns. "Maybe." He rubs at his temple for a second. "And, despite everything, I still... I..."

"You what?"

Kyle sighs heavily. "Christ, Eric, I love you."

Eric loses his ability to think or speak or even breathe. "Really?" he finally manages to choke out.

"Really," says Kyle. "You make me absolutely miserable sometimes but, you know what? I still love you. I love you and it's... It's certainly something, alright."

"Miserable in a really sexy way, though, right?" asks Eric.

Kyle snorts. "Yeah, sure."

Eric leans forward so that their foreheads are touching. "I love you too, jew," he says. "In a really really gay way. Like so much that, frankly, it's a little bit scary." He pauses. "But you knew that already."

"Yeah, I did," says Kyle.

"Sorry for being an asshole."

"It's okay. I knew you were an asshole when I decided to date you in the first place. I think I might be dating you _because_ you're an asshole. Since I'm apparently a masochist or something."

Eric raises his eyebrows. "So you're back? Like, with me? For real?"

Kyle bites his lip. "Ah, I don't know. Maybe." He looks him over. "I mean, if not, you can always date Butters."

Eric snorts. "Oh god, no. I'm done playing pretty pretty princess with the Queen of the Femboys."

"You sure? You could call him again."

"Did you know he has a tongue piercing?" Eric muses.

Kyle gives him a bored stare. "Oh, so I see you were up close and personal with Butters' tongue tonight, huh?"

Eric rolls his eyes. _"Please,_ I didn't even cum this time."

"This time?" Kyle asks, raising an eyebrow. "As opposed to when?"

"Don't tell me you've never heard the story of me and Butters' tragic love affair," says Eric.

"This is news to me!" Kyle exclaims. "I got _Butters'_ sloppy seconds?"

"Well, yeah, but then he got yours right back again."

Kyle flares his nostrils and crosses his arms. "I really, honestly can't believe you right now," he huffs.

"Jew, I legitimately can't tell if you're fucking with me right now," says Eric. "Is this just, like, gay banter or are you actually pissed?"

Kyle glares at him for a moment before cracking a grin. "Moron, I knew about you and Butters. Everybody on campus knows about that."

Eric smacks him with a pillow. "You fucking jew!" he exclaims, laughing his contagious laugh.

"You were scared for a minute, though, weren't you?" Kyle asks with a smirk.

"Yeah! You're fucking terrifying!" says Eric. It takes him a second to realize that Kyle isn't smiling anymore. Instead, he's looking at him with an almost puzzled kind of look. "What?"

Instead of a verbal reply, Eric is answered by Kyle roughly cupping his face in his hands and pulling him into a bruising, desperate kiss. Eric responds with a startled gasp but quickly returns the kiss, pulling Kyle in closer by his waist.

"I don't understand you," Eric pants against Kyle's lips.

"Then don't try to," says Kyle, pulling off his shirt.

"Christ," Eric growls, hungrily, pushing Kyle onto his back, sucking at his neck.

Kyle whimpers and arches his back as Eric pulls his olive skinny jeans down, leaving him in nothing but his boxer briefs.

"Take your clothes off," he commands, grabbing at the fabric of Eric's shirt for emphasis.

Eric sits back on his knees. "Oh, you want my body, jew?" he taunts with a wry grin.

"Shut up. Shut the fuck up. Just take your clothes _off now,"_ Kyle snaps.

"Alright, damn," says Eric, tugging his shirt off over his head and standing up for a second to undo his fly and leave his pants on the floor. He's rock hard and tenting his boxers, precum already making a wet spot through the fabric. He crawls back onto the bed from the bottom, kissing along the elastic band of Kyle's underwear, giving a gleeful hum when Kyle responds with an eager groan.

"You want me to suck your cock, huh?" Eric murmurs, his lips ghosting along the trail of fiery hair leading downwards from Kyle's belly button.

Kyle isn't able to say much other than "Oh fuck."

"I'll take that as a yes," says Eric, pulling down the elastic and taking Kyle's hard cock with one hand, using the other to toy at his balls. He traces the head with his tongue. "Needy little bitch," he teases before taking about half his length into his mouth.

Kyle wants to say something snarky in return but, truthfully, it feels too good and he's reduced to whining and writhing upwards, his hands bunching up in the sheets, then moving down to stroke Eric's cheek, softly, as he sucks, and then up into his hair.

"Mmh," Kyle whimpers, "E-Eric..."

Eric's dick twitches when Kyle calls him by his name and he brings his mouth all the way down to the base of Kyle's shaft. He remarkably doesn't really have a gag reflex so this kind of thing is easy for him. Kyle is in absolute awe.

"How the fuck do you do that?" he mutters, agog.

Eric doesn't answer but pulls back and does it a few more times until his eyes are watering a little bit.

Kyle, in all his noisy glory, hasn't stopped whining with pleasure since Eric started. He really can't help it. He's like a different person when somebody gives him head. "Oh god," he mewls, his legs trembling as Eric takes a second to coat his index finger with saliva before pressing it firmly into him, massaging with gentle pressure.

Eric breathes out against Kyle's cock, taking time to lick slowly and languidly up and down the shaft. "Do you want me to make you cum?" he asks in a deep, brusque voice.

Kyle nods, quickly. "Ah, y-yeah." He inhales sharply as Eric's finger finds the perfect place inside him. "I'm not gonna be able to hold on much longer if you keep doing _that."_

"What? This?" Eric asks, feigning innocence as he does it again, giving a chuckle under his breath when Kyle gasps and arches his back in response.

"Yes, that!" Kyle says. "Fuck, I'm close."

Eric looks up at him, deviousness twinkling in his odd eyes. "Since you're a masochist now or whatever, I _could_ make you beg for it," he suggests, quirking an eyebrow, his lips trailing leisurely up his length, teasing him.

Kyle shoots him a glare but he's too hot and bothered to look menacing. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, but I _would,"_ says Eric. "Come on. Beg." He winks and begins to suck again, agonizingly slow, holding eye contact with Kyle as he also fucks him with his fingers.

Kyle brings one hand up to his mouth, stifling a whimper into his palm, screwing his eyes shut and bucking his hips upwards. He's aching to cum but Eric is mercilessly holding him right at the precipice of climax. He opens his eyes and glances downward at Eric who gives him a raised eyebrow look of expectation.

"Fine," Kyle hisses, breathlessly. "Please. Please. _Please."_

There's so much desperation in his voice that Eric almost feels bad about it. But he murmurs "That's more like it," against Kyle's cock, finally picking up the pace and bringing him over the edge.

Kyle cries out, loudly, nearly seeing stars when he cums with a face flushing, leg shaking, toe curling orgasm, one fist bunched up in Eric's hair.

Eric swallows easily. He's pretty much a pro at this. He leans back, wiping the corner of his mouth with this thumb, removing his fingers from Kyle's ass as he lays there, panting heavily.

"Well, I guess-" Eric starts as he tries to sit up and get off the bed. He's interrupted, though, by Kyle suddenly wrapping his legs around him and pulling him down on top of him. "Whoa!"

"We're not done yet," says Kyle, flicking a stray piece of hair out of his eyes.

"Well, I didn't think we were _done_ but I thought that maybe you'd want a little breather to regain your dignity or something," Eric says. He nuzzles at Kyle's neck with his nose before latching on with his lips and sucking a bruise onto his skin, nipping lightly with his teeth.

Kyle groans softly and manages to wriggle out of his underwear, beneath him. "Oh, please," he scoffs. "I've still got my dignity. _You're_ the one who was sucking _me_ off."

"Oh, so you wanna get on your knees for _me_ now, is that it?" Eric mutters into the crook of Kyle's neck.

"No," says Kyle. He runs his hands down the soft skin of Eric's back, reaching the waistband of his boxers and trying his best to tug them down. "You're gonna fuck me."

"I am, am I?"

"Aren't you?" Kyle turns his head to look at him darkly.

Hastily, Eric slips the rest of the way out of his underwear. "Fuck yeah, I am."

Somehow, in the last few minutes, Kyle's managed to procure the resident bottle of lube from the nightstand drawer. "Hurry up," he nags, impatiently, tossing it at him.

"You're telling _me_ to hurry up?" Eric exclaims, incredulously, flicking open the cap and squeezing a dollop out onto his hand. "You got to cum already! It's my turn!"

Kyle watches, hungrily, as Eric strokes the slickness onto his cock.

"You like that, don't you?" Eric speculates, noticing his thirsty gaze.

"Shut up. Shut _up,"_ Kyle snaps, narrowing his eyes at him, clawing at the skin of his chest.

"You're so mean to me," Eric taunts, pressing the head of his cock up against Kyle's entrance. "Even after I graciously decided to let you back into my life."

Kyle tries to scowl but Eric pushes into him just then, with a deep groan, distracting him from his ire.

"Ah, fuck."

Eric rests his forehead against Kyle's, holding him tightly by the hips. Kyle lifts his legs up and loops them around Eric's waist, pressing himself snugly against his body. He's already hard again from the friction of Eric's stomach against his cock.

Kyle loves being filled up and stretched to the fullest. It isn't something he's really ever thought about before sex with Eric. He considered himself versatile, and maybe he still is, but the feeling of Eric inside him is currently kind of his favorite thing in the world.

As it seems, Eric is also enjoying himself pretty thoroughly. Granted, fucking Kyle is something he's wanted to do for the majority of a decade, at least. This isn't their first time but it might as well be since the last time was soured by the ever-looming prospect of heartbreak.

"Oh, that's good," Kyle breathes as Eric thrusts into him at a short, even pace. "Just like that." He scratches hard at Eric's back, mostly involuntarily, but also to leave a mark. He wants that claim, that ownership. It stings a little but Eric thinks it's really hot. And, besides, the hickeys he's left on Kyle's neck are already beginning to turn a deep shade of purple.

"Jesus Christ, you're so hot," Eric mutters, under his breath. He wants to speed up but he doesn't want this to end. Kyle is warm and tight and making _the_ most titillating sounds. It's almost too much for him to take.

Kyle immediately picks up on it when Eric is getting close. He can tell by the way his body is trembling and his breathing is rapid. His thrusts are also becoming quick and erratic. Kyle leans up to kiss him, exploring his mouth with his tongue. His lips move downward, across his jaw, to his ear. "You wanna cum, huh?" he says in a low whisper, almost mimicking the question that Eric asked him earlier.

Eric lets out a high pitched whine. "M-maybe."

"Go on, then," Kyle says, almost daring him. "Cum inside me."

"Ohhh _fuck,"_ Eric moans, a shiver running up his spine. He's too close to stop and, when he finishes abruptly, Kyle can feel it.

It doesn't take much for Kyle to cum again, either, and he barely has to touch himself before he's spattered across both of their bare stomachs.

They lay there together, sweaty and panting and almost dazed. After a few minutes of vague, post-orgasmic sighing, Eric laughs.

"Okay," he says. "How was that?"

"Mm, nine point five out of ten," says Kyle.

"What!? What happened to my half a point!?" Eric exclaims.

Kyle shrugs, stretching, enjoying the feeling of Eric's cock still twitching inside him. "Ah, you know. Circumstances or something."

Eric scoffs. "Rude ass bitch. You didn't _sound_ like you were only having a nine point five out of ten time, that's for sure. Sounded like a ten out of ten to me. _And_ you came _twice!_ Where's my points for that!?"

Kyle stifles a laugh into Eric's neck. "Shut up, I'm sleeping."

"You are fucking not!" Eric says. He pulls out in retaliation, rolling over onto his side. "You suck."

Kyle snorts. _"You_ suck, actually."

Eric rolls his eyes. "Oh, shut up. You've sucked before, in the past, technically. Same difference."

"Whatever," says Kyle, throwing a pillow over his face. "Go to sleep."

"Hmph. We don't always hafta go right to sleep, you know," says Eric, folding his arms underneath him. He _is_ pretty tired but he's afraid when he wakes up Kyle won't be there anymore.

Kyle removes the pillow from his head and looks at him, chewing on his lower lip, thoughtfully. "Well, what's the alternative?"

"Hm." Eric thinks, scrunching up his face in a way that makes the dimples on his cheeks even more prominent. He smirks. "You could confess your love for me again."

Kyle lets out a bark of a laugh. "You'd like that, wouldn't you."

"Damn straight I would. Do you have any idea how long I've waited for that?" says Eric. "I wanna hear you say it every hour, on the hour, for the rest of my life. Or until I get bored of you."

"You'll never get bored of me," Kyle gloats. He knows he's right and Eric knows he's right. "Maybe I've just got you right where I want you. You never know."

"Ah, so it's a _trap,_ " says Eric. "I knew I couldn't trust a jew like you."

Kyle nods. "Yeah, I can't believe you fell for it, honestly."

Eric feigns disappointment and sighs. "Alright, then. Guess I'll go call Butters again. Doubt he'll go out with me again after tonight, though. I ran out mid-blowjob and then immediately tried to seppuku myself off a bridge." He breaks into a laugh as he says it. "It's actually really funny in hindsight."

"It is not!" says Kyle. "Butters got to go down on you _and_ you almost killed yourself! Those are two really, really bad things." He pauses. "Not that I'm equating sex with Butters to suicide or anything."

"That's literally exactly what you're doing."

"They're just both upsetting!"

Eric rests his chin on top of Kyle's head. "Don't be upset. Yeah, the Butters thing happened and, like, sorry about that but _also_ I didn't kill myself so I feel like that's a win for you."

Kyle rolls his eyes. "Well, just don't do either of them again. I mean it."

"Okay, promise," Eric says, pulling Kyle up evenly to his face and he kisses him. And kisses him. And kisses him. And kisses him.

  
  



	14. Not Bad, Just Different

As Wendy gets dressed for class on Monday, she notices that her pants are fitting a little too tight. She stares at herself in the mirror. It doesn't seem right. She's not even nine weeks pregnant and she can already see the slightest bulge in her abdomen. It's not very noticeable but she can tell. She runs her hand across it, gingerly. It doesn't feel real. None of it does.

She knows she's got to get a move on with deciding what to do about it since, the longer she waits, the less viable the option of abortion becomes. Eventually, she won't, legally, have a choice.

There's still a lot for her to consider, either way. She decides, later in the day, to text Eric. The last time she spoke to him, he was in the middle of a suicide attempt so she feels like she should meet up with him to talk and work through some things. She's actually kind of surprised when he agrees.

They meet up for brunch the next day since they both have an hour or so free between classes at eleven in the morning. They choose Panera as a meeting spot since it's pretty quiet and Eric won't socially allow himself to make too much of a scene in a public place.

By the time Wendy gets there, Eric is already seated at a booth in the back, eating. He has an awful lot of food but, then again, Eric is an awful lot of person.

"Having fun?" Wendy asks, scooting into the booth across from him. She's not feeling great, as first trimester pregnancies tend to do, but she's got a cup of coffee and a bagel anyhow.

"I'm stress eating," Eric says through a mouthful of food.

She raises her eyebrows at him. "Excuses, excuses."

Eric breathes a laugh and sits back, taking a sip of iced coffee. "I'm serious."

"Iced coffee? It's the coldest day of the season."

"Every day in Colorado feels like the coldest day of the season," says Eric.

Wendy nods toward the window. Outside, shimmering, white snowflakes have begun to flurry down from the heavy gray clouds above. "First snow," she says.

"It snows like seventy five percent of the year," Eric scoffs. "We got, like, a four month break from snow and that's it. Can you imagine living in a place that actually only gets snow in the winter? You kind of get used to it. Snow's kind of lost it's charm for me. It's not even Halloween yet."

Wendy hums, watching the snow fall for a second. "I guess so." She grudgingly picks at her food. "So, I'm assuming you know why I want to talk."

"Obviously," says Eric. "Elephant in the room or whatever."

"Yeah, so, um, we need to decide what we're doing and I think we should make that decision right now," she says.

Eric quirks an eyebrow. "Like right _now_ right now?"

"Yes. Why not? We've tried talking about it in... multiple situations and haven't come to a conclusion so why not just make a decision now and stick with it?"

"Hm... m'kay," says Eric. He crosses his elbows on the table. "What are you thinking?"

She exhales. "I talked to Stan about it last night and I kind of had an idea," she says.

Eric wordlessly prompts her to continue.

"What about adoption?"

Eric purses his lips. "Adoption?"

"Yeah, and here's my reasoning, okay? What I'm thinking is that we won't have to drop everything and reroute our entire lives to be parents but, at the same time, you can have the satisfaction of knowing you did the right thing for your child. You know what would have been better than what you got as a kid? If you had been adopted by a family who was able to care and support you in the way you needed. Do that for our baby."

It feels weird to hear Wendy actually calling it a baby. It's still really not a baby yet. It's even _weirder_ to think about it being _theirs._

Eric swallows. "Hm," he says, staring down at the table, pensively.

"And, you know, maybe if we do an open adoption on your end or whatever, you'll still get to _know_ your kid and see it when it's born and all that," Wendy continues. "Eric, I am willing to carry this child for you but I'm not going to be it's mom. I don't want to be it's mom."

"Okay," Eric says after a long silence.

"Okay?"

"Okay. I'm okay with it."

Wendy breathes a sigh of relief. "So, that's what we're going to do, then?"

"I guess so," says Eric.

"You're sure? You're sure you're okay with it? You're not going to, like, have a meltdown later and try to kill yourself again?" Wendy asks, slowly, raising an eyebrow.

Eric shakes his head. "Nah, I'm done with that shit. Kyle's having sex with me again so I'm good."

Wendy smirks, faintly and sighs. "He still hasn't spoken more than two words to me since he found out about everything. Not that I really blame him."

Eric frowns and furrows his brow. "What the fuck? He's a dumbass bitch. He might give good head but I'll still kick his little jew ass."

"Slow down there, tiger, it's fine" she says. "I mean, I haven't really tried to talk to _him_ either so I guess he and I are even." She and Kyle were never really all that close but they've always been good friends. They have similar personalities and they're both the most important people to Eric and Stan so it's kind of strange to feel like Kyle is avoiding her. Though, she _is_ pregnant with his boyfriend's child so she can definitely understand why he would feel a little bit awkward.

"I guess I should probably attempt to talk to Stan sometime, huh?" says Eric. He's still pretty afraid that Stan's going to kick his ass. There was a time where he wouldn't have a fighting chance against Stan but nowadays he could probably take him. Not that he wants to, though. He's been in enough fights to last him a lifetime so he tries to start them sparingly these days.

"You should," Wendy says, taking a sip of her coffee. "He doesn't want things to be weird."

"There's absolutely nothing Stan Marsh could possibly do to make things any less weird."

"I know, but... He's not mad at you, is what I'm trying to say."

Eric leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. "Darsh is fuckin' bizarre. He really is a cuck, isn't he?"

"He's just..." Wendy starts, taking a sharp inhale. "I don't know. I know he's a little wounded by all this and I think he's just trying to be mature about it."

"Yeah, yeah," says Eric. "Does he have class today? I'll maybe go and talk to him or something. I might have to bring Kyle as a bodyguard though, just in case." He thinks for a second. "Actually, on second thought, they might gang up on me. And it's not like _Kyle_ could stop me from being attacked in the first place."

"He gets out of his biology lecture at one and then he goes right to the animal shelter so you'll find him there," says Wendy. "Be nice to him. I promise he's not going to beat you up. He just wants everything to be okay. He's the one who had the adoption idea, too. His heart's in the right place."

"Ugh," Eric groans. "I don't think I could hate Stan Marsh if I tried. He's too damn _understanding._ It's gross."

Wendy giggles, finally starting to eat. Her stomach isn't that upset right now and she feels like it might be because things are sort of falling into place. She's not scared of the future and she feels like she's doing the right thing. After a few moments she asks "So, do you want to be involved?"

Eric cocks an eyebrow. "Involved with what?"

"The whole pregnancy process. Like the ultrasounds and stuff. Do you want to be there for that? If I'm giving birth to your kid or whatever."

"Uh," says Eric. "I think so. I mean, if Stan wants to do it instead that's cool. But, like, if you want me to, I'll... Yeah. Okay." His cheeks pink up significantly as he thinks about it.

She gives him an apologetic look. "Is that going to be weird for you? Do you think Kyle will care?"

Eric shrugs. "I don't know what he'll say. I'm pretty sure he'll just be stoked that we're not _keeping_ it."

"Which he has a right to be, I guess."

"Yeah, yeah. He doesn't want my little gay babies. Who would be super fucking cute, mind you."

"Yeah, we'll see about that," says Wendy.

Eric scoffs. "Bitch."

Wendy laughs and then they're both quiet for a while. Wendy stares down at her plate and runs her finger around the rim of her coffee cup and Eric can tell she's got something on her mind.

"What's up?" he asks.

She looks up at him. "Nothing. I'm just thinking."

"About?"

"That I'm really fucking glad you didn't kill yourself on Saturday."

Eric swallows thickly and looks away. "Oh. That."

"I mean it," she says. "What the hell was I supposed to do without my best friend?"

Eric almost laughs. "What? _I'm_ your best friend? Come on. You can do better than _me,_ of all people. We all know Bebe's your best friend."

Wendy purses her lips. "Who's _your_ best friend then?"

Eric thinks about it for a moment. "I don't have one. It's you and Bebe, Stan and Kyle, and... Well, it was me and Kenny. So, I guess, still Kenny. It might always be Kenny."

"Well, regardless," says Wendy, "Don't try that shit again."

"I already told you, I'm done with that. It was a momentary lapse in judgment."

"Uh-huh. Right."

"I'm serious! I mean, that moment when I almost fell? That split second was probably the scariest moment of my entire life. Or maybe the second scariest. But it was still terrifying! My life flashed before my eyes and I realized I was a fucking loser," says Eric.

"So, what? You've got a new lease on life then?"

"Something like that," says Eric. He looks at his crappy bootleg Apple Watch. "Shit, I've got class," he says, standing. "It's been nice."

"Uh-huh," Wendy says, slowly sipping her coffee. "At least it was actually semi-productive for once."

Eric takes his jacket off the back of his chair and slips it on, zipping it up to his mid-chest, and wraps a thick, woolen scarf around his neck, picking up his backpack off the floor and tossing it over his shoulder. "Alright, later."

"Bye."

It feels a little colder out now than when he first left the house this morning. He shoves his hands in his pockets and hunches his shoulders up, nestling his face into his scarf. At least the snow has stopped and the ground is still warm enough to melt whatever landed there earlier. He doesn't like snow. After he graduates in the spring, he wants to move somewhere warm. The day when he finally gets to leave Colorado can't come soon enough, he thinks. He hopes Kyle, at least, wants to come with him. If not, he figures he'll be stuck here. But he wouldn't leave without Kyle. Not after all this.

Speaking of Kyle, as Eric trudges across campus, Kyle, who is just leaving his history class, in his orange jacket and green ushanka, spots him and trots up behind him, elbowing him in the arm to announce his presence.

"Oh, hi," says Eric, glancing down at him. "What's up, Jew? You got comp. sci, right?"

"Mmhm," says Kyle. "Then I'm tutoring freshmen until, like, six-thirty. What are you doing?"

"I've got sociology and then I'm gonna go bother Marsh at the pound."

"You're gonna go talk to Stan?" Kyle asks with raised eyebrows. "That's good."

"Yeah, and _you_ should talk to Wendy," says Eric.

Kyle frowns. "I will, I'm just... Well, I... Fine. I know I'm being a dick. I'll text her tonight. And, I can opt out of tutoring if you want me to come with you to see Stan."

"I know you want to see your _real_ boyfriend but I've got it," says Eric. "And, good. You need to talk to Wendy 'cuz she thinks you hate her."

"I don't hate her! I just don't know what to say! I feel like a scorned mistress or something."

Eric laughs. "If anything _she's_ the mistress. Or maybe _I'm_ the dirty mistress! Anyhow, go to class. Do your tutoring. Text Wendy. Have sex with me. In that order."

Kyle rolls his eyes. "We'll see about that last part," he says. He starts to say something else but Eric cuts him off by stopping him with his arm.

"Hold that thought. Is that _Bebe Stevens_ making out with a _girl?_ " Eric gasps, incredulously.

It is. It's unmistakably Bebe, tall and blonde, red parka over a sweater dress and leggings, kissing a much shorter brunette against the side wall of the gym building.

"Hey, Bebe!" Eric shouts, as they approach. "What the fuck are you doing!?"

Bebe looks up and waves at him, enthusiastically. "I've gotta go," she says to the brunette. "My queers are here!"

She jogs over to them. "Hi!"

"Bebe!" Eric exclaims. "You're just _making out with girls_ on campus in the middle of the day now? Do you have a _girlfriend?"_

Bebe giggles sheepishly. "Oh, that was Claire. She's not my girlfriend but, like, it is what it is."

"Bitch, you're gay?"

She shrugs. "Well, yeah. I thought you guys knew that."

"You've literally never told us you were a lesbian," says Kyle. "I thought you liked Cartman's dick."

"Excuse me, _what?"_ says Eric.

Bebe nods. "Yeah, I can appreciate a penis. I'm probably bi but I definitely prefer girls. I can't believe you guys didn't know that. I've really never told you?"

"Uh, I think I would have remembered!" Eric says, loudly. "Why couldn't _you_ have been the one to sleep with Wendy when she broke up with Stan!?"

"I was in California!" Bebe yelps, defensively, planting her hands firmly on her hips. "You got to her first!"

"No, she got to _me_ first!" says Eric.

Kyle rubs his temples. "Guys, we are in the _middle_ of the sidewalk."

"Right," says Bebe. "I'm going to get some lunch so I'll walk with you."

The three of them start across the pavement, taking a shortcut through a faculty parking lot. Kyle feels markedly shorter than the two of them. Eric is six-foot-five and Bebe is six feet even. Kyle comes up short at 5-foot-ten. He's shorter than Stan too at six-foot-two. At least he's taller than 5-foot-three Wendy.

"So, I think me and Wendy decided on what to do," Eric says as they walk.

"Oh yeah?" Kyle prompts.

"Yeah, she thinks adoption's a good idea."

"Oh, that's cute," Bebe says. "Then you get to meet your baby and, more importantly, _I_ get to meet your baby."

"Yeah," says Eric. "That okay with you, Jew?"

"Me?" asks Kyle. "I mean, yeah. If that's what you wanna do, I'll support it. It seems like a responsible decision to me."

"Well, you know me. Mr. Responsible," Eric says.

"Wendy came up with it, didn't she?" Kyle asks, flatly.

"Uh, actually _Stan_ came up with it, thank you very much."

Kyle raises his eyebrows. "Huh."

"Anyways, yeah. Adoption and then, someday, if my kid wants to know how fuckin' _cool_ I am, he can hit me up or whatever."

"He's gonna be so disappointed," Kyle says, shaking his head.

"What if he's homophobic," Bebe muses.

"Excuse _both_ of you," says Eric. "First of all, he'll love me. Second of all, my kid _can't_ be homophobic because he's going to get my gay genes and he'll probably be even more of a fag than I am."

"It could be a girl," Bebe adds. "Aww! I just thought about you two guys with a little baby girl and my heart exploded."

"This is where I jump out of the conversation," Kyle says. Thinking about having kids makes him a little uncomfortable. He's not sure why, but it does. He's never considered it. He figured, when he got to an age where it would be expected of him by his parents, he would put the option on the table. But not now. Not eight months from college graduation. Conveniently, he's also close to the building his next class is in.

"Okay, bye," Bebe says, holding the 'e' for an extended amount of time.

"Hey," Eric says to him with a nod of acknowledgment. He mouths "Love you" and smacks his lips in a kissy face.

Kyle rolls his eyes and walks away but, a few seconds later, Eric's phone buzzes in his pocket and it's a text from him.

_'I love you too, idiot'_

-

Stan is shoveling dog shit out of the fenced in run with his air pods in when Eric shows up so he doesn't initially hear when he calls his name. Eric leans up against the side of the building and watches him for a while, chuckling when he hears Stan humming a Yellowcard song softly to himself.

Eventually, he turns and jumps a little when he notices Eric standing there.

"Oh, hi," he says, taking out his air pods. "I didn't hear you come in."

Eric shrugs and heaves himself off the wall. "Yeah, well, I'm pretty light on my feet, if you hadn't noticed."

Stan smirks. "I was wondering when you were finally going to talk to me again."

"Your girlfriend's pretty convincing," Eric says. He kind of regrets phrasing it that way and hopes Stan doesn't take it as some kind of underhanded dig.

Stan just nods, though. "She is," he says. "How ya holdin' up?"

Eric quirks an eyebrow. "You're worried about _me?"_

"Well, yeah!" says Stan. "The last time I saw you you almost killed yourself!"

Eric purses his lips. "Oh, right," he says. "Well, I'm fine. I'm always fine."

"Cartman, you're very rarely fine."

Eric waves his hand, dismissively. "Ah." He crosses his arms and shifts on his feet. "Anyhow, I wanted to come and talk to you. Because you're my friend. And I don't want you to kick my ass."

Stan breathes a laugh. "Dude, I'm not going to kick your ass. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"Probably every time we hang out for the foreseeable future," Eric says. "I would, personally, kick my ass if I were you."

"Are you trying to convince me to kick your ass?" Stan asks, quizzically.

"No!" says Eric. "I just feel shitty about it, is all."

"Well, it's not a big deal." Stan pauses. "I mean, it kind of _is_ a really big deal but, like, it's mostly fine."

"Right," Eric says, slowly. "Um, about the adoption thing. That was a really smart idea."

"You guys talked about it, then?" asks Stan, leaning on his shovel.

"Yeah. it's... probably the best solution." Eric stares at his feet. This conversation is making him anxious.

"Cartman, dude, I'm sorry that everything turned out like this," says Stan.

Eric is a little flabbergasted. "Don't apologize to me!" he blurts out.

"Sorry, sorry!"

"Stop apologizing for apologizing!"

"I'm sorry!"

"Stan! Stop apologizing for apologizing for apologizing!"

"Okay!"

"Je _sus_ ," Eric huffs, rolling his eyes.

"Anyways," says Stan, "we're cool, I promise."

Eric looks at him, warily. "Okay," he says, cautiously. "If you say so."

Stan leans his shovel up against the wall with a clatter and rinses his hands in the freezing water from the hose spigot, wiping them on his jeans. Eric follows him inside, met by a chorus of barking dogs.

"You can hang out here with me if you want to," says Stan. "I'm gonna be a while but we can talk more."

"Eh," says Eric. "I might go harass Kyle or something. Or Bebe. Did you know she's a lesbian?"

"Who? Bebe?"

"Yeah. Me 'n Kyle saw her makin' out with some chick. She acted like we should have known she liked pussy all along!"

Stan raises his eyebrows. "Huh. It's not _that_ surprising but like, yeah, I'm pretty sure she never mentioned that."

"Right? Like, I would've been making jokes about it for the last four years if I would have known!" says Eric.

"Maybe that's why she never told you," Stan laughs.

"Fuck off, Bebe _loves_ my jokes!"

Stan shrugs and continues on with his work, opening a bag of dog kibble. "Oh, so, are you and Kyle going to be doing anything for Halloween?" he asks.

"Uh, not sure. Probably not," says Eric.

"Wendy and Bebe said we can have our own little party or whatever at their apartment," says Stan. "I think it could be fun."

Eric nods. "Yeah, okay. We'll be there." He watches Stan as he scoops the dog food into metal bowls. "Well, good talk, Stan," he says, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder with a large hand. "Still a little awkward, but, you know. That was to be expected."

Stan gives him a sincere look. Stan's almost uncomfortably good at looking sincere. "Yeah. Hey, if you ever need to talk, you know you can, right?"

Eric swallows. "Uh-huh. Thanks." He chews on his thumbnail, anxiously, for a moment, trying to figure out something to say. He's kind of stumped and feeling a little uneasy. He's glad Stan isn't mad at him but it's still hard to push aside the guilt and it doesn't help that Stan was there to witness his implosion over the weekend. "Alright, hasta la vista," he finally says.

"Bye, Cartman," Stan says,

Eric hurries out of the animal shelter and, once he's outside, his breath turns to frosty clouds in front of his lips. He shivers and stuffs his hands in his armpits and starts his long walk home.


	15. Hospital Coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, trigger warning for blood and some tough stuff in this chapter, just so you know. Nothing too awfully graphic but there is some blood. Almost done with this fic! I combined the last two chapters into one and I'm working on that now so I should be ready to post the last chapter this coming weekend! I hope you've all enjoyed it so far! Thanks for reading!

It's Halloween night and it's not all that exciting. Eric, Kyle, Stan, Wendy, and Bebe are camped out in Wendy and Bebe's living room in cheap costumes, watching some classic slasher film, and eating candy. They considered getting some boxed wine or a few cases of beer but decided against it since Wendy's obviously still pregnant and also because it's a Thursday and they all have class the next day.

"I can't believe Butters didn't come," Stan says, rummaging through the candy bowl for a fun-sized Almond Joy. He's dressed as makeshift demon to Wendy's angel costume.

"I can," Kyle scoffs. "Cartman fucking traumatized him."

Eric laughs. "He just wanted to smash. Who could blame him?" He glances down at Kyle out of the corner of his eye with a smirk. He's laying on the the floor with his head in his lap. They're dressed in a couple's costume that's been sort of a running joke from their childhood. Eric is dressed as a shitty werewolf and Kyle is Little Red Riding Hood, much to his chagrin.

"You think you're funny, don't you?" asks Kyle.

"Mmhm," says Eric, flicking a candy wrapper at Bebe. She karate chops it out of the air and it hits Stan in the eye.

"You know," Bebe muses, "I'm not even a third wheel anymore. I'm a fifth wheel with you guys."

"Yeah, but you're, like, drowning in pussy," says Eric.

"But look at you guys in your couple costumes!" she whines. "It's too cute!" She's the only one without a pair but she's dressed as a sexy pirate babe.

"You look so good in your costume, though!" says Wendy from where she's curled up on the couch.

"Hm," says Bebe, looking down at her costume, feeling up her own boobs. "Yeah, I do."

Eric pops a piece of candy corn in his mouth and offers one up to Kyle's lips but he makes a face instead.

"Gross."

Eric frowns. "How dare you."

Wendy gets up to pee. She's always got to pee these days. She'll be ten weeks pregnant tomorrow and it's been rough.

"There goes Wendy, pissing again," says Eric.

Wendy whacks him hard in the back of his head. "Yeah, who's fault is that?"

"Ow!" says Eric, rubbing his head. "Rude!"

Stan's in the kitchen when Wendy gets out of the bathroom. She comes up behind him with her arms around his waist as he pours a glass of root beer.

"Hi," she says with her face pressed up against his back.

He laughs and turns around, tilting her chin up. "How are you feeling?" he asks.

"Better," she says. "I really don't feel sick at all."

"Good!" says Stan. "You're almost out of the first trimester, right?"

She nods. "Yeah. Ten weeks tomorrow. I think there's two or three more weeks until the second trimester but I've been feeling better the last couple of days."

"I'm glad," Stan says, leaning down to kiss her.

She hums against his lips. "You're still gonna love me when I'm huge and bloated, right?"

"Of course," says Stan. "You'll be so cute with your big pregnancy belly." He kisses her on the forehead. "Do you want a ride to your doctors appointment this week?"

She thinks about it. She has her first real ultrasound next Wednesday and she's not sure if she'd rather do it alone or have either Stan or Eric come with her. She isn't sure if having _both_ of them there would be the best idea. "Maybe," she decides to say. "I'm not sure what's going on yet. I printed out the adoption forms today, though."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhm. I feel good about it. I hope I can make some childless couple really happy," she says.

"Anybody would be happy to have your kid."

"Yeah," says Wendy, "but it's also _Eric Cartman's_ so it's bound to have, like, the serial killer gene or something."

Stan laughs again as they go back out to the living room. The credits are beginning to roll on the movie nobody was really paying that much attention to.

Kyle yawns and elbows Eric in the stomach. "It's getting late, you wanna head out?"

"What? No, come on," Bebe says, "Let's watch one more horror movie!"

"I have class at 8 AM," says Kyle, "and it's already past midnight."

"Loser," says Bebe, chucking an empty plastic water bottle at him. It bounces off of his head with an audible boink and Eric laughs.

"I love this gay bitch," says Eric, hi-fiving her. He catches Kyle glaring at him and pokes him in the cheek. "But, _fine,_ Jew, I'll drive you home, I guess."

Kyle raises his eyebrows. "You'll drive _me_ home?"

It's a little surprising. Eric doesn't like to drive and he _really_ doesn't like to drive with somebody in the passenger's seat. Not after what happened with Kenny.

"Ch'yeah, I know how to drive," says Eric.

"I know but, like, I thought-"

"KYLE, CAN YOU PLEASE JUST LET ME HAVE SOME CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT," Eric shouts, cupping his hands around his mouth.

"Alright, alright, damn!" says Kyle, sitting up and holding up his hands, defensively. He stands and stretches. "Thanks for having us over, guys."

"Thanks for coming," says Wendy, curling up next to Stan on the couch once again.

Eric reaches up to Kyle with grabby hands, prompting him to help haul him to his feet. He does, reluctantly.

"Alright, later," says Eric, brushing any stray crumbs off his costume as he stands. "Come on, Little Red Riding Kyle," he says and, quickly, before Kyle can react, he throws him, one armed, over his shoulder like some kind of sexy lumberjack.

Kyle yips in protest but eventually sighs and resigns himself to his fate, crossing his arms over Eric's shoulder. "Well, bye, I guess."

"Go home and get that ass!" Bebe shrieks with amusement. "Happy fucking Halloween!"

Kyle flips her off and Eric carries him out the door.

-

It's four AM on the dot when Eric's phone rings, waking him from his sleep. He rolls over, groggily, feeling around on his nightstand in the dark until he finds it. He and Kyle have rearranged their dorm room in the last week since they like sleeping together but hated sleeping together on a twin sized mattress. Now, they've got their beds pushed together to form a makeshift king. It works fine except Kyle will occasionally fall through the middle when they're sleeping. Sometimes during sex too.

Eric sits up and squints at the screen. It's Wendy. He answers, quietly, trying not to wake Kyle next to him.

"Hello?"

 _"Hi, I'm sorry if I woke you up,"_ Wendy says. She sounds very timid and small. Eric can immediately tell that something isn't right.

"What's the matter?"

_"Um... Do you think you could drive me to the hospital?"_

Eric is wide awake at that point. "Shit, yeah. Are you okay? What happened?"

She's quiet on the other end and Eric is almost afraid she's not there anymore but, eventually, she speaks. _"I'm, uh, bleeding. A lot."_

"Oh. _OH._ Like...?" Eric doesn't know how to phrase the question he wants to ask but Wendy understands him anyhow.

_"Yeah, I think so."_

"Well, is it like... a lot or like a lot a lot?" Eric asks, fully aware that he sounds like a moron.

 _"A lot a lot,"_ says Wendy.

Eric exhales noisily and runs his hand through his bedhead hair. "Do you need an ambulance? Do you need Stan?" He's really not sure what to do.

 _"No, I don't want to make a scene and I don't want to wake Bebe up. I don't want Stan to worry, either. Can you just... Can you come over now? The door's unlocked."_ she asks.

"Yeah, I'll be there in like five minutes. Try not to fucking die before I get there or I'm gonna be seriously pissed," Eric says, swinging his legs out of bed, inadvertently rousing Kyle.

 _"I'm not gonna die,"_ Wendy says, _"but yeah. Please hurry."_

"Alright, I'm on my way," says Eric, hanging up. He throws on a mostly clean pair of pants that have been laying on the floor by the foot of his bed for two days and fumbles with the fly in the darkness.

"Hey, what's wrong? What happened?" Kyle asks, sleepily, sitting up on his elbows.

"Wendy needs help with something," Eric says, purposefully vague, not turning around as he roots around in his dresser drawer for a clean shirt. He doesn't want Kyle to be concerned but he can tell by the inflection in his voice that it's not good.

"Is she okay?"

Eric shrugs, pulling a black t-shirt on over his head. "I don't know."

"Do you need me to come with you?" asks Kyle.

Eric glances at him for a brief second. "No. She doesn't want a scene and she doesn't want Stan to know for whatever reason."

Kyle purses his lips, watching as Eric hastily brushes his hair and puts on his socks and shoes. "Is it what I think it is?"

"Yeah," says Eric. He hesitates for a second but then throws on his jacket and scarf and heads for the door. He stops, though, with his hand on the doorknob and turns around, walking briskly to the bed and kissing Kyle quick and hard. He turns to leave again but Kyle catches him by the scarf and pulls him back to look at him for a moment with his big green eyes.

"Be safe," Kyle says. "I love you."

Eric nods and presses his lips to Kyle's once again and then he's out the door.

-

He gets to Wendy's apartment in four minutes flat and pulls into the parking lot, crookedly. He dashes upstairs and steps quietly into the apartment as to not wake Bebe. Wendy is nowhere to be seen.

He walks down the hallway, eventually noticing light from underneath the bathroom door. He knocks, softly.

"Yo, Wendy."

"Um, okay, come in," Wendy says in a shaky voice from the other side of the door. "I'm in the bathtub so, like, prepare yourself for that."

"I've seen titties before, calm down," says Eric, pushing the door open. He stops, though, in the doorway, unsure of what to do or say next. "Oh."

Wendy is in the bathtub, naked, with her knees tucked up to her chest. Her skin is pale white and she looks tired. She looks so much different from when he had seen her just hours earlier. The water in the tub is only about three or four inches deep but it's bright red.

Wendy frowns. "I told you to prepare yourself."

"I was preparing myself for boobs, not for you sitting here in a pool of your own blood. Jesus Christ."

"I said I was bleeding."

"I underestimated the amount of blood your little mouse body could hold," says Eric.

Wendy almost breathes a laugh. "I need to rinse off so I can figure out a way to contain... this... but I don't know if I can stand up."

"Why can't you stand up? Does it hurt?"

She nods. "Quite a bit, actually." It probably doesn't help that she's lost quite a bit of blood. She's feeling pretty lightheaded.

"Okay, well, just pull the plug and drain the water and then you can run the shower," says Eric. "I'll go get you some clothes."

He hurries to Wendy's room and then realizes he has no idea what clothes to grab. He rummages through her dresser drawers and eventually settles on bringing her a baggy t-shirt, sweatpants, and the ugliest pair of underwear he could find.

When he gets back to the bathroom, Wendy is sitting up on her knees in the shower, clutching her stomach. Eric reaches in and turns the water off, giving her a towel. He sets the clothes on the lid of the toilet.

"I found your worst underwear so you don't have to worry about bleeding all over them," he says as she towels herself off.

"Can you get me the pads from under the sink?" she asks, slipping the shirt over her head. He hands them to her and she layers them up in the underwear.

"You know what you need? An adult diaper," Eric says, pointing finger guns at her.

Wendy glares at him. "Not helping."

"Sorry, sorry."

After a minute, Wendy is dressed and Eric tries to help her to her feet but she falls against him. "Sorry, I'm a little dizzy," she says, holding onto his shirt to steady herself.

Without warning, he scoops her up and holds her, bridal style. "This takes care of that, then."

"Thanks," she breaths, relieved that she's not going to have to walk down the stairs. As they pass the linen closet, she reaches in and snags a towel. "This is so I don't make your car look like a murder scene."

"Whatever, I'd just blame it on Kyle anyhow."

She smirks faintly and holds on tight to his jacket cuff as he carries her out of the apartment and down the stairs. He throws the towel down on the passenger's seat with one arm and then sets her carefully inside.

She buckles her seat belt as Eric gets in the driver's side and quickly backs up. She starts to say something but a sudden pain overtakes her and she lets out a sharp gasp.

"You good?" Eric asks.

Wendy breathes slowly out through her nose. "Uh-huh," she says through gritted teeth.

"Please don't die on me," Eric says.

"You're really not good at being reassuring, are you?" Wendy says, dryly.

Eric swallows. "If you die, it's gonna be _my_ fault and _then_ I'm pretty sure Stan's gonna kick my ass for sure," he says, his voice cracking slightly.

"Glad to know you have your priorities straight," says Wendy.

"Listen," Eric says, sounding a little acerbic, "I know you're, like, bleeding out or whatever right now but could you try to not be a huge bitch for like four seconds."

Wendy frowns and stares at him, scrutinizing his expression when it's illuminated by the golden light of passing streetlamps as he drives. His jaw is clenched and nostrils flared and his glinting eyes are fixated on the road in front of him. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. She can tell he's upset but she's not quite sure what, specifically, is bothering him. Maybe it's driving. Maybe it's concern over her well being. Maybe it's guilt. And, she realizes with dawning horror, that, in the last hour or so, Eric's entire fathering fantasy has most likely just come to a screeching halt.

"Oh," she says, quietly. "Eric, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Please don't be sorry," Eric says, not taking his eyes away from the road. "Just... Just focus on not getting vaginal blood all over my car, thanks."

Wendy lets out a long exhale.

Luckily, the hospital isn't far from Wendy's apartment and it only takes about ten minutes to get there. Wendy doesn't realize how fast Eric was driving until he whips into the emergency room parking lot, almost drifting into a parking spot.

"Alright," Eric says, getting out and coming over to Wendy's side, opening her door. "Let's get this show on the road." He hoists her up into his arms again.

"It's a good thing you're strong," says Wendy.

Eric breathes a laugh. "Are you kidding? You weigh _literally_ nothing."

Inside, it's not as busy as one would expect for the Halloween night, although, it's technically November first at this point, nearly dawn. A receptionist at the front desk stands up as she sees Eric carrying Wendy through the automatic doors. Eric figures he must look pretty crazy if he's attracting this much attention the second he brings her inside the building.

"What do we have here?" the receptionist asks.

Eric starts to go off into some tangent about what happened but Wendy cuts him off.

"I'm pregnant and I'm bleeding a lot," she says, calmly.

"Okay, honey," the receptionist says in a soothing voice. "We're gonna take you right back."

A nurse is suddenly right there with a wheelchair and Wendy is grateful to sit in it and not look like Eric's dying bride or something.

The nurse wheels her back to a quiet exam room with Eric close behind and starts to get Wendy's vitals and a verbal history as she climbs into the hospital bed.

"Your blood pressure is a little low and your pulse is high so I'm gonna go get you set up for an IV right away," the nurse says, giving Wendy that apologetic woman-to-woman nod.

Wendy looks to Eric as she leaves. "You look exhausted," she says.

He does. He still looks like he just woke up and there are dark circles around his eyes. "Yeah, cuz you woke me up at four in the goddamn morning," he says, yawning.

"You can go home and sleep," says Wendy. "I'll be okay here."

Eric scoffs. "Yeah, right. I'm not going to be able to sleep knowing that you're probably going to bleed out and die because of me."

"I'm not going to die!" Wendy exclaims. "It's just blood!"

"I'm not a doctor but I'm pretty sure you need blood to live!" says Eric. He sighs. "But I _am_ gonna go get coffee so, like, don't go anywhere."

Wendy nods firmly and gives him an overly enthusiastic thumbs up. "I really don't think that'll be a problem," she says, sarcastically.

Eric gives her a dismissive wave as he leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

Wendy exhales and gathers herself and her surroundings. It's mostly quiet aside from light chatter at the nurse's station, footsteps in the hallway, and the steady beeps and whirs of medical machinery. She notices that the bed has metal obstetrics stirrups at the bottom so she figures this must be a labor and delivery room.

She lays back into the crinkly pillow and starchy white sheets of the bed. She's pretty tired as well. She noticed the first cramp of pain when she was getting ready for bed after Stan left and she hasn't slept since. She didn't start bleeding until close to three and it's all been downhill from there.

The nurse comes back in with an IV kit and hangs a couple of bags of fluid from the pole next to the bed. They make small talk with each other as she presses against Wendy's arm, trying to find a vein. Eventually, she does, and it's a quick pinch but the IV is in. Before she hooks her up to the fluids and something for her pain, the nurse takes a few vials of blood for tests and runs a flush of saline through the catheter and Wendy can taste it.

Before the nurse can even leave, the doctor is in, snapping on a pair of powdery purple rubber gloves. She looks a little bit like Jane Lynch if Jane Lynch wasn't a lesbian. She introduces herself as Dr. Harmon.

"How many weeks along are you?" Dr. Harmon asks.

"Ten today, technically," says Wendy.

Dr. Harmon asks her a few more questions about her symptoms and how much she's bleeding and has her rate her pain on a scale of one to ten. Wendy says at least a six.

Dr. Harmon is firm but kind and leaves the room, briefly, for Wendy to undress and put on a fabric dressing gown. She gives her a thin, absorbent pad to sit on as well, once she notices the amount she's bleeding.

She brings out a fetal Doppler and presses it against Wendy's abdomen with some cold gel, moving it around, gently. "Hm," she hums to herself. Alright then," she says, wiping the jelly away and palpating Wendy's abdomen with her fingertips. "Up in the stirrups; let's take a look."

Wendy puts her feet up in that classic gynecological exam pose and scoots forward so her butt is almost falling off the edge of the bed. She flinches slightly as Dr. Harmon places the speculum. It's cold and uncomfortable.

Unfortunately, right as Wendy is exposed, baring herself to the world, Eric walks in with two cups of coffee.

"Hey, Wendy, I-" He stops short when he notices she's got her whole pussy out and he closes his eyes tightly and turns around to leave. "Shit, sorry!" He tries to go back out the way he came but he's still got his eyes shut and he runs directly into the doorjamb, splashing hot coffee all over himself.

Wendy covers her mouth to stifle a giggle, trying not to laugh while Dr. Harmon is right up in her vagina. "Eric, it's okay, you can come in," she says.

He does but he still pointedly averts his eyes. "I got you a latte," he says, holding it out, blindly.

"Your boyfriend's very thoughtful," Dr. Harmon muses, raising her eyebrows at Wendy.

"Oh, he's not my boyfriend," Wendy says, flushing slightly. "I have a boyfriend. But it's not him."

"Yeah, I'm gay," says Eric.

"Oh," says Dr. Harmon. She purses her lips. "You might want to call your boyfriend then." Not a good sign, but kind of anticipated.

"Uh," says Wendy, "M-my boyfriend isn't the father." This is honestly so embarrassing. She never considered that explaining this to strangers would sound so awkward. "He's... um... my friend is... uh..."

"It's mine," Eric says, plainly, sparing Wendy the trouble of trying to clarify things to the doctor.

"Oh," Dr. Harmon says again, looking surprised.

"It's not as complicated as it sounds," says Eric, shrugging.

"Well," says Dr. Harmon, shaking off the confusion, "I'm sorry to tell you that it looks like your cervix is open."

"Which means...?" Eric prompts.

"It looks like a miscarriage. There's no heartbeat."

"Oh," Wendy and Eric say at the same time.

Dr. Harmon removes the speculum and places it on a metal tray. "Normally, I'd say let nature take its course but, since you have lost a lot of blood so far, I'm going to admit you for a blood transfusion and a D and C in the afternoon."

"What's a D and C?" asks Eric.

"Dilation and curettage. It's a procedure to remove the tissue from your uterus."

"Oh. Okay," says Wendy, scooting back up onto the bed, crossing her ankles, and smoothing down the thin sheet covering her stomach.

Dr. Harmon scribbles away at her clipboard and then removes her lavender gloves, tossing them in the hazardous waste bin. "I'll go get that set up for you and let you guys have a moment alone." She leaves, shutting the door behind her.

"So," Eric says, after a long silence, sitting down in a chair next to her, handing her the coffee he brought, "you're not pregnant anymore."

"Uh-huh," says Wendy. She's suddenly very aware that tears are welling up out of her eyes and dribbling down her cheeks and chin.

"Why are you crying?" Eric yelps, surprised.

"I'm just so relieved," Wendy says, finally, through hiccuping sobs. "I don't have to be pregnant anymore. I don't have to tell my parents. I don't have to have a baby."

Eric knits his eyebrows together. "You're probably the happiest person to ever have a miscarriage," he observes.

She nods, sniffing, drying her tears on the collar of her hospital gown. "But, Eric, I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"You know why."

Eric frowns. "Yeah. It's okay. It's better this way, though." He's quiet for a second but then he smirks. "Our kid woulda looked like Russell from Up, anyhow."

That catches Wendy off guard and she lets out a loud laugh.

"It's true!" Eric says. He takes a long sip of his coffee. "I'm sure Kyle will be thrilled. Stan too, I'd assume."

"I feel like he actually might be disappointed," says Wendy.

Eric quirks an eyebrow. "What a freak."

Wendy lets out a deep sigh. Whatever they gave her in her IV has eased her pain, significantly, and made her fairly drowsy. "How did we get here, Eric?" she asks. It's something she's asked before but it feels even more relevant now.

Eric shrugs. "The hell if I know."

If someone would have asked them years ago if they would have ended up in this situation they both would have laughed. It's against the odds for them to be friends, let alone the rest of the situation they've been in for the past two months.

"I feel like we're like one of those weird animal friendships you see on TV. Like when a monkey is best bros with a turtle or something," Eric continues and Wendy laughs.

"Which one are you?"

"The monkey, obviously."

"Sounds fake but okay."

"Shut up, you're high," says Eric.

She is. Just a little bit. It's probably a good thing, too.

It's been a long night. 


	16. The Kids Are Alright

Kyle gets out of his eight AM class and has an hour before his next one so he decides to go home for a bit and check if Eric is back yet.

He is. He's sitting at his desk, doing nothing, really. Just staring down at his thumbs, quietly, without the lights on.

"Hey," Kyle says when he enters. "Skipping class, huh?"

Eric looks up. "Oh, hi. I, uh, wasn't feeling going to fuckin' calculus, if you catch my drift."

Kyle swallows. "How's Wendy?"

Eric shrugs. "Fine, I guess. More or less. She's still in the hospital." He rubs the back of his neck, hesitantly. "You don't have to worry about it anymore."

It's a big relief, Kyle thinks, but it also kind of stings and he doesn't know why. "Cartman, I'm-"

Eric glances at him, quickly. "It's okay."

"You've gotta tell me how you're feeling," says Kyle, sitting down on the corner of Eric's desk. "You've gotta let me in."

Eric scrunches up his nose. "Don't psychoanalyze me over this or anything, Jew," he says. "I'm doing just fine."

"You're sitting here at your desk in the dark."

"I'm _thinking!"_

Kyle scoffs. "That's a first." He stops himself, looking down at Eric, apologetically. "Sorry. Force of habit."

"Yeah, yeah," says Eric. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. "It's fine, though. Really."

Kyle narrows his eyes. "You're sure?"

"Yeah, I mean, what else is there to say? It's better this way. I'm not gonna cry about it or anything."

Kyle puts his hands on his hips and shifts his weight on his feet. "Well, okay." He grabs the back of Eric's chair and swivels it towards him. "Hey," he says. He sits down in Eric's lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. "It's going to be okay."

He kisses him, deeply, and then Eric buries his face in Kyle's chest.

"I love you," he mumbles into the soft fabric of his hoodie, holding him tightly against him.

"I love you too," Kyle says into Eric's hair.

-

Eric shows up at the hospital around one thirty in the afternoon, hoping to catch Wendy before her procedure. It seems like he's too late, though, but Stan is in the waiting room.

He's sitting in a chair with a bouquet of flowers resting on his knee, idly scrolling on his phone. As soon as Eric sees him, he turns to leave but Stan looks up and notices him before he can get out the door.

"Hey, Cartman!" Stan calls, motioning for him to come sit next to him.

Eric frowns and reluctantly turns around and heads back inside. He doesn't take the seat immediately, though. Instead, he stands, awkwardly, nearby, crossing his arms. "Hey, Marsh."

"You just missed Wendy," Stan says. "They just took her back a couple of minutes ago."

"Ah, okay," says Eric. He clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. "Guess I'll fuck on off outta here, then."

"No, man, you can hang out here with me until she's done. They said it would be pretty quick."

Eric furrows his brow. "Oh. Uh. Okay." He slowly sits down in one of the vinyl hospital chairs, a few seats down from Stan. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"You okay?" Stan asks, looking genuine and heartfelt as usual.

"Come on, Darsh. Don't be gay," Eric says, rolling his eyes.

"Dude! I'm serious!" says Stan. "I know you."

Eric frowns even more and rubs his temple. "Christ, Stanley. We don't have to _talk_ about it, though."

"Why not?"

"You know exactly why!" Eric hisses. "This is awkward as shit."

"Cartman, we've been over this," says Stan. "It is what it is. You can talk to me."

Eric huffs. "Why is everyone so sure that I'm so fuckin' torn up inside over this? It happened and it's fine."

Stan doesn't say anything and he doesn't have to. All he does is give Eric an apologetic, knowing glance and Eric opens up like a book.

"Okay, so _maybe_ it feels a little bit shitty," Eric continues. He gets up and paces as he talks, as he usually does when he's ranting. "But you know what fucking sucks the most? Consequences. _Consequences,_ Stan. Are you listening to me? I had drunk sex _one time,_ and _maybe_ it was with your girlfriend and, yeah, that was a dick move, but there were so many goddamn consequences. You know? She got pregnant and then I got dumped and then I had a mental breakdown and tried to kill myself, which, you know, isn't entirely a direct consequence but whatever. I digress. And then! Then! _Then!_ If all that wasn't enough! As soon as I got into the idea that I might have a kid, even if it was going to not really be mine, it fuckin' died. So, I guess it kind of feels bad. It kind of sucks, Stan." He pauses to take a breath. "HOWEVER, at the same damn time, it's kind of stellar that this whole miscarriage thing happened because now I don't have to be somebody's dad right now, thank _god._ God really came through for me this time, for real. Wendy too. I know how relieved she is that she doesn't have to birth the Antichrist or whatever. It's the universe's way of telling me I shouldn't have kids at all, I think."

"I don't think it means you shouldn't have kids ever," Stan says, sagely. "I think it just means it's not the right time."

"Yeah, well, whatever," Eric says, sitting back down and folding his hands in his lap. "Don't tell Kyle I told you any of this shit cuz I told him I was fine."

"You are fine," Stan says.

Eric exhales loudly through his nose. "Yeah." He's quiet for a while. "Thanks, Stan."

Stan nods. "I told you I was here if you wanted to talk."

Eric chews, thoughtfully, at his lower lip. "Right. So, anyhow, I'm gonna take off."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I've got places to be." He doesn't, really. He just hates hospitals and doesn't like the idea of sitting in the waiting room with Stan all afternoon.

"Alright, then," says Stan. "I'll let Wendy know you were here."

"Okay," says Eric, standing again, slapping his thighs as he does. "Later."

"Bye, Cartman."

-

Eric still doesn't feel like going to class today and figures he'll be okay taking the day off and meanders around campus instead. It's a cold day but the sun is out and the thin layer of snow that has collected on the ground over the past week is melting slightly, leaving the ground wet and slushy.

It's purely by chance that he runs into Kyle walking out of class, once again.

"There's my Jew," Eric singsongs, coming up from behind, knocking Kyle's hat forward on his head.

"Be still my beating heart," Kyle says, sarcastically, pulling his hat back into place. He stops and lets Eric walk next to him and put his warm, heavy arm around his shoulder. Kyle's never been really fond of PDA but he makes an exception. His glasses fog up, momentarily, from being so close to Eric's body heat. "Did you see Wendy?"

"Nah, I didn't get there in time. I talked to your butt buddy, though," Eric says.

"Oh, Stan was there?" Kyle asks. Usually, he would say something snarky in response to the insinuation but he's not feeling it today.

"Uh-huh. I mean, that was kind of a given, right?"

"I guess so," says Kyle. "You think Wendy's going to be okay?"

"Yeah, she'll be fine," says Eric. He sighs loudly and his breath turns to fog in front of his lips.

Kyle watches him with scrutiny. "Are _you_ going to be okay?"

Eric rolls his eyes. "Again with this shit. I'm _fine._ I've accepted it. I've made peace with it or something. I'd probably traumatize a kid anyhow, so I've decided I'm never having any."

"Hm," says Kyle, thinking. "That's unfortunate."

Eric looks down at him, quirking an eyebrow. "Why? Don't tell me _you're_ pregnant this time."

"No, fuck you," says Kyle. "I just mean... I don't know... I'd probably like to have kids someday."

"Oh yeah? Really? Kids? In this economy?"

Kyle snorts. "Shut up. I'm trying to be sincere, here."

"So you're saying you want to have my gay babies? Is that it?"

"Not me, physically, stupid ass. But maybe! Someday!"

Eric laughs. "That's so fucking homo."

Kyle tries to scowl but breaks into a grin. "Yeah, it's pretty fucking homo, okay." He shifts against Eric's side, pushing against him blithely.

"Oh shit, does that mean we're getting married?" Eric says. "I didn't even propose yet. Damn, I've gotta get a ring."

"Alright, don't get ahead of yourself," Kyle says, flatly, raising his eyebrows at him. "This is like, a long way off. Like a really long way off. Like at least five years. Probably ten. Maybe more. Probably more."

"Probably more," Eric repeats in a mocking tone. "Please. I know you're dying to be off in gay, married bliss with me or whatever. I can see it in your eyes."

Kyle squints. "Yeah," he says, dryly. "I'm sure that's it."

Eric wiggles his eyebrows and smirks, the aggravatingly charming dimples on his cheeks puckering into existence. His eyes sparkle mischievously. "Ah, Kyle. You've got it bad, huh?"

"I have to go to class," Kyle says, bluntly, shrugging himself out of Eric's armpit, walking towards the nearest building.

"Wait, come back!" Eric shouts after him, laughing. "Kyle! _Kyle!"_ He pitches his voice up into a grating whine. "Kyyyyyyyyyyyle! Come baaaaaaaaack!"

Kyle winks at him and disappears into the building.

Eric shakes his head and chuckles to himself, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Oh, he's got it bad alright.

-

The next day, Eric shows up at Wendy's apartment and Bebe answers the door.

"Hey, bitch," says Bebe.

"Lesbian whore," Eric says in acknowledgment. He clears his throat. "Wendy's here, right?"

"Yeah," Bebe says. "She's in her room."

"Cool, cool," Eric says, stepping in, past her, as she shuts the door. "Stan's not here, right?"

"No, why?" Bebe quirks an eyebrow.

"Because! He always gets me to talk about feelings and shit and I've had _enough,"_ Eric complains.

Bebe stifles a laugh. "Fair enough."

Down the hall, Wendy's curled up in bed, under a thick quilt, sipping a cup of tea and reading a book. She looks up when Eric pushes the door open. "Oh, hi." She tucks a ribbon between the pages of her book and closes it.

"Hey, you good?"

"Mmhm," Wendy says. "A little sore." She shakes a bottle of pills from her nightstand. "Got some painkillers, though, so I'm good."

"That's good. You got your drugs," says Eric. "I tried to come and see you in the hospital but I was too late. It was because I was getting laid, though, so, like, my bad." He gives a nonchalant shrug.

"Stan told me you came. He also said you guys had a good talk," she says, raising her eyebrows, suggestively.

Eric groans and sits down in her desk chair. "It was super gay. Hated every minute of it."

"Did you, though?"

"No."

She sips her tea, knowingly. "Hm. Interesting."

Eric rolls his eyes. "Oh, stop. You know how he is. All he has to do is look at you with his stupid eyes and suddenly you're spilling the entirety of your guts to him. It's annoying as fuck."

"Believe me, I know," says Wendy.

"Don't know how you live with it," says Eric.

"You get used to it." Wendy takes another long sip of hot tea and then places the cup down on the nightstand and folds her hands over her lap. "I'm glad you talked to him, though. Did you work through some stuff?"

"What is there to work through?" asks Eric. "I'm good."

Wendy looks at him, half-lidded, and raises her eyebrows. "Uh-huh," she says, slowly, and Eric can tell she doesn't believe him.

He scoffs. "Shut up. I'm fine. _Although,_ I was ready to resign myself to a childless future but _apparently_ Kyle wants to have my gay babies," he says.

"Kyle's going to birth them for you, huh?"

Eric waves at her, dismissively. "You know what I mean. The point is, he's super into me."

Just then, Bebe pops her head into the room. "Oh! If you want a surrogate for your babies, pick me!"

"You really want to?" Eric asks. He's a little incredulous.

"Yeah, sure!" she says. "I'm absolutely positive I don't want to have my own kids so I might as well put my uterus to work helping out my queer little friends."

"Are you sure about this, Bebe?" Wendy asks. "Being pregnant with this guy's kid is _not_ all it's cracked up to be." She gives Eric a bored stare.

Bebe nods. "Yeah. I think it'd be exciting!"

"Wow, that's really generous of you," Wendy says.

"Yeah, I hope you know I'm holding you up to this," says Eric. "Gay and lesbian solidarity babies is what they'll be."

Bebe tosses her curly blonde hair over her shoulder. "Exactly."

"They'll be too powerful, honestly," says Wendy.

"They'll be fuckin' unstoppable," says Eric, pounding his fist on Wendy's desk.

They would be. He was sure of it.

-

_**Ten Years Later** _

It's late August in a suburb outside of Denver, Colorado and the craftsman-style bungalow on Magnolia Street is full of life. There are too many cars to fit in the driveway so several are parked on the street out front. Pink and blue balloons tied to the mailbox billow in the light breeze. It's early afternoon and the sun is bright and golden.

"Gender reveal parties are pretty archaic, don't you think?" Kyle says, inside. He's thirty-two and his hair is shorter now but still just as red and curly as it's always been, He's got the same black, rectangular glasses but this pair is matte metal and much more expensive than the ones he had as a college student. He's got on a dark green pullover over a white dress shirt so the starchy collar pops out over the top and some khaki pants. He's clean and refined and looks like an accountant. It makes sense because he _is_ an accountant.

"No," says Eric. "They're an excuse to have cake. You can't go wrong with cake." He's still the same Eric Cartman, just older. Over the years he's lost weight and gained it back and lost it again and he's about fifty pounds lighter than he was a decade ago. Still just as imposing, though. He's a real estate agent currently which is absolutely not what he had planned when he was younger, but, he's an incredibly persistent and convincing person and he's really able to lay on the charm to make a sale. It's a little baffling, really.

He's in a nice t-shirt and dress pants, at Kyle's insistence. It's been ten years and he still can't say no to him. And Kyle couldn't say no to him, either. Not when he asked him to marry him six years ago and not when he brought up the idea of children again.

Kyle rolls his eyes. "You and cake. It's always you and cake."

"Well, who can blame me?" Eric asks, raising his eyebrows as they walk across the house to where Wendy is beckoning them.

She's standing at one end of the living room next to a table with three, unassuming, brown cardboard boxes. Each has a question mark painted on them with white paint.

Wendy's hair is shorter now, shorn into a sleek bob that falls at her chin in the front. She's in a lacy, white sundress and her belly is round and pregnant.

Bebe stands nearby, at the other end of the table. Unlike Wendy, her hair is still long and her dress is bright red and smooth. She looks the same as she has for the last ten years aside from her own, equally pregnant stomach. She beams at Kyle and Eric as they reach the table.

"Are you ready? Are you ready? Are you ready? Are you ready?" Bebe asks, bouncing on her heels, excitedly.

"We don't even need to open these boxes," says Eric. "I know they're both going to be boys."

"They're going to be _girls, actually,"_ Bebe retorts, rubbing her belly, gently. "Lesbian intuition. I can sense the presence of vaginas."

As she promised, years and years ago, Bebe is pregnant with Kyle and Eric's babies. Babies in plural. After much deliberation, they decided to do IVF and now she's pregnant with their twins. One is biologically Eric's and one is biologically Kyle's. Both are biologically Bebe's but she's obviously giving up the rights to them when they're born.

"What about Wendy, then?" Kyle asks. "Is she having a boy or a girl? If you're the expert."

Bebe glances at her best friend with a squint. "She's out of my range. Or her vagina is giving me interference. It's like that time in Twilight when Edward couldn't see anything about their baby because it was obscured by Bella's powers."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Kyle says, flatly.

"This man knows nothing about pop culture, don't mind him," Eric says. "What are you betting on, thought?"

"I'm not _betting_ on anything," says Kyle. "I think one of each would be nice. But, obviously, I'm not _hoping_ for one or the other. We get what we get."

"Whatever," says Eric. "Boys would be cool because we kicked ass as kids." He thinks for a second. "Although, that might be more of an argument for hoping they're girls. Meh. Either is fine, I guess."

"Where the hell is Stan?" Wendy interrupts.

Kyle points across the room. "Here he comes."

Stan's hurrying across the room with he and Wendy's three-year-old boy, Phoenix, on his shoulders. "Hippie Name Marsh" as Eric calls him. He's cute and energetic and has black hair that sticks up every which way and wide brown eyes.

Stan is still Stan, just more clean-cut and dadly. "Dilf Supreme" as Eric calls _him._

He and Wendy got married exactly eight months after college graduation and have kind of stepped up to the plate of being upper middle class working parents. Stan's been working in conservation and Wendy is in politics but is currently working from home since the birth of their son. She's planning on running for county commissioner once her kids are in school.

"Sorry," Stan says, placing Phoenix on the ground. "Somebody wanted to go down the slide one more time."

Wendy bends down to Phoenix's height. "Are you ready to see if you're going to have a baby brother or a baby sister?"

"Yeah!" Phoenix cries, far louder than necessary.

Wendy laughs and stands back up. "I think he's ready." She looks at Stan. "Are _you_ ready?"

"I've _been_ ready," Stan says, leaning down to kiss her.

Eric makes an exaggerated gagging sound. "Hetero," he says, pretending to cough. Yep, same old Eric. Ten years older and hardly more mature.

Bebe gets everyone's attention and announces that the gender reveal is about to take place.

Wendy and Stan go first and, on the count of three, they open the box closest to them. Out streams a bouquet of bright blue balloons. It's another boy for the Marsh family and their friends and family cheer. Phoenix cheers too just because everyone else is doing it.

"You gonna name this one Kale?" Eric jokes, over the commotion.

Stan looks at Wendy with a shrug. "Actually, I kind of like that name."

Eric makes even more excessive barfing sounds and Kyle elbows him in the ribs.

And then it's their turn and Bebe stands off to the side, modeling her baby bump like it's a prize on The Price Is Right. Kyle takes the leftmost box and Eric takes the right and they look at each other and they can tell that, despite gender reveals being kind of tacky, they're both brimming with nervous excitement.

The balloons are pink, from both boxes, and Bebe shrieks with glee while Eric and Kyle look at each other in elated disbelief.

"I told you!" screams Bebe, throwing one arm around each of them and jumping up and down, excitedly, as people cheer for them as well. "I told you I knew they were girls!" She runs over and hugs Wendy, tightly.

"We're... going to have two daughters," Kyle says, slowly, to Eric. "Two of them."

"I owe some people money," says Eric, running his fingers through his hair. He laughs and shakes his head and he pulls Kyle into a close embrace and they listen to each other's hearts beat in their chests. Nothing they have ever done will be as important as what they will do, going forward now.

It really hits Eric, then, that they're going to be parents. He's known they were going to be parents for months so this isn't anything new. However, it feels more real now. More real than the decision to have children. More real than when Bebe got her positive pregnancy test.

After everything, he's finally going to get the chance to do better. To be better. To give more than he got.

He thinks back to the first time he felt this way, ten years ago, and feels a little pang of something or other in his chest. But that doesn't matter now. All that matters is himself and Kyle and their friends who have become their family and, most of all, their two daughters.

Eric Cartman is going to be a dad.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done!! This is the longest thing I've ever written and I'm so happy with it! I hope you all enjoyed it and thank you so much for reading! I love these kids so damn much!!


End file.
